A dream of soaring
My heart lifts in my chest as hope undergirds it.
One moment my feet are rooted firmly in the cool grass, and the next, I am rising higher and higher toward the inky sky. I extend my arms out and soar over the oaks, over my loved ones looking up with their heads cocked, trying to figure out how.
But my soaring has no explanation. I was standing, and then I felt I had to rise. Hesitancy to stay grounded was quelled by the force drawing my heart out, “Come up here, come fly.”
Horrendous crashes of parachuters flash like a film strip in an old projector through my mind. I anticipate the landing, but I don’t have much control over when my body meets the earth below again. So I continue to fly – over my childhood, the rolling green hills by the farmsteads, my brick elementary school with the blacktop and playground, over houses and forests. Life continues and doesn’t pay mind to me.
Several football fields of space separate me from the earth.
Lord, you know I’m afraid of heights.
Trust me. Let yourself feel the weightlessness, uplifted by my current. My love is your sustaining force. It sets your heart free to soar. So lead with your heart and let it come to life with my breath.
What does it mean to soar?
Isaiah 40:31 says, “But those that hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar like eagles.”
Soaring begins with hoping in the Lord. Hope lifts my spirit, mind, and body (at least in my vivid dreams).
A friend recently described soaring like rest – it’s the wind keeping them up, the birds give an occasional flap, but mostly, they’re resting. They trust their heavenly design!
I fight daily battles to keep my hope.
The more self-aware I become, I’ve realized I’m sensitive to cloudy days, sunny ones, dead grass, dirty cars, traffic. Whatever seems out of place irritates me, especially when I’m feeling depleted. My soul seems to yearn for all things beautiful and at peace. Instead, life in America appears purposeless and hurried.
Where is the time for people to connect with others at a heart level? What about stillness and silence? Where is time for God?
I judge the scenery and feel it’s out of balance. And it tries to squash my levity. What is cultural, and what am I incorrectly labeling? Does it matter? These are the deep ponderings of an introverted, highly-sensitive person. (Anyone with me?)
What happened to my happy college town? San Luis Obispo had its ugly parts, but somehow I came to appreciate them and found solitude on the oak grove trails.
But even in that place, I didn’t feel like I was soaring. Instead, I found the goodness of God, dear friends, and matured in many ways. I battled depression, grieved losing my Father unexpectedly, and sought healing with therapists and prayer. All the while realizing an engineering career would not sustain my longings, raising a baby girl, and having a husband that traveled most weeks. Oh, and COVID… Yep. I was struggling. Yet I felt the need to be grateful and keep it all together. Some of it was my inability to tell my husband what I needed until it built up to an eruption of tears (which led to much grief and more harm than good).
But was I crazy for being so needy? For wanting my husband to be home with our daughter and me on weeknights? Why couldn’t I open up when he called to check-in at the end of the day? I was exhausted. My soul felt like an empty cup. I was shaking upside-down, waiting for one last drop to roll out.
Help from a friend
“What do you want to ask Papa God? What do you need?” Karen asked via Messenger with her Australian accent, making my eyes crinkle, imagining her warm embrace.
“What do I need?” My hand stroked Bug’s wool rug of vivid stripes. Murmurs of movers packing up our apartment came through the thin walls. Keep it together! Tears stung my eyes.
“I need to know – will it get easier?”
“Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit – will it get easier for Sarah when they’re in their new home?” Karen asked.
We were silent.
I felt something in my spirit respond, but it was a late-blooming hope.
“What did you hear?”
“It won’t get easier right away, but it will, slowly, and surely, I can sense God’s hope over my daily life and for my future.”
“Ah, yes. That’s good, very good.”
Even my plant had doubts.
I have a beloved plant, Frederick the Fiddle Leaf Fig, who trekked from California in an Ace hardware bucket, angled to fit in our SUV, to become an Austinite. After our trip, he was still vibrant green, albeit crooked. But, I wasn’t concerned and knew I could help him stand proud once again.
But then he dropped a leaf. Maybe it was where the bucket handle rubbed against him on the journey. I reasoned with myself and blamed my husband for being rough with my darling.
In the middle of the night, we woke. “What was that?!” Andres looked around for threats. It was Frederick. Another leaf quit on me.
The next day one more fell.
I googled “falling leaves on a fiddle leaf” with the intensity of a concerned mother with a sick baby.
- Reason 1: Underwatering – crinkled leaves, yellowy. Not applicable.
- Reason 2: Overwatering – black spots on leaves, especially near the base. Not applicable.
- Reason 3: Stress – new environment, new light, new pot, etc. BINGO.
Cure for reason 3: Nothing (!!!). Let the plant throw a fit, adjust and see if it makes it, and the source said it might take up to a year for new growth. Oh brother. I want him thriving now!
I told my coach about the fiddle leaf fiasco. She said, “Do you hear that, Sarah? A year? It can take up to one year to transition! So give yourself grace, too, as you settle. It’s going to work out.”
But I wasn’t ready to believe it would take a year to get some new roots. God, you led me here. What’s up with this waiting and discouragement? But I accepted it’d at least take more than a few days to make new friends, find a church, and feel at home in the Austin area.
I started hugging Frederick (light as a butterfly so no other leaves would detach). “It’ll be ok, Frederick. You’ll get through this.” God’s loving presence calmed my doubts and fears. You, too, will get through this, sweet girl. Trust I have you close to my heart.
God reminded me of old fears.
I longed to go back to what I knew to quell my doubts. San Luis Obispo, our old home, was my safe place. Perhaps I didn’t soar there, but let me stick it out and give it a good try.
Nope. You’re ready for more.
As we prepared to move to Austin, I forgot I moved to California dragging my feet, and God confirmed I was in the right place with a bit of humor.
Five years ago, I looked over the Pacific Ocean, only ten miles from downtown SLO. God, is this where you want me? No sooner had I finished my thought when a seagull flapped past and left a gift on my leg. I couldn’t help laughing.
Ok, ok, God, I remember your humor bringing me to SLO. I went there big worries, and here I am, moving to Austin with similar heaviness. Will you meet my needs? Will I make friends? What about our family? What about growing our family? We can’t find anyone as good as our Pipo for Bug. It can’t be as good as I had it before.
Doubt, fears, lies – things that try to ground me, clip my wings, and siphon out any hope in my lungs.
God showed up: from doubt to hope.
For a while, things seemed to go unanswered from the Lord. I battled heaviness in my spirit.
But then four weeks after we arrived in Texas, I gave Frederick a good morning embrace and noticed the tiniest nodule at his top.
It’s too fast; this can’t possibly mirror my life, Lord. Will I also bounce back and have a spring season? Is it time to stretch out my arms? Is 2022 coming with fresh hope? Austin doesn’t feel like SLO.
Yes, yes, dear one. Draw close to me and see what I will do. You won’t feel the same – you’ll be at new heights!
So now, I begin 2022 with fresh hope that I will soar, lifted, almost effortlessly by the love of my Father and trust he has good for me.
I promise he has good for you too, friend.
Journal Questions:
- Where do you sense God leading you in this season – to grow, slow down, or wait?
- Write out your doubts and fears. Then, bring them to the Lord and ask him to reveal his love and hope.
- What is your word for 2022? (If you don’t have one yet, check out my Guide for Discovering Your 2022 Word here.)
- What are you hoping for in this season?
- Where do you need to let go and trust God to lift you?