The craggy ledge overhanging a deep creek gorge is the fence line of my yard. The wildlife that lives in this creek gorge is plentiful and a pleasure to watch from my quiet bench aloft the cliffside. Deer teem through the self-made meandering trails along with coyotes, wild hogs, skunks, raccoons, armadillos, turkeys, foxes, and bobcats. As I sat watching the parade one evening, the screech of a Red-tailed Hawk echoed through the rocks. I glanced heavenward in hopes of catching a glimpse and like a fighter jet he sliced through the pinkish skyline, gliding effortlessly on the wind. For a few moments I watched as he protested with his cry; yet effortlessly rose above the jumbled, craggy, undergrowth of the creek side below. In that moment I had the common wonder of wanting to fly. Like so many land dwellers before me I longed to soar, to rise above it all and be lifted.
In many ways, like a hawk, I choose to either stay in the forested valley among the pedestrian wilderness or I can choose to soar and be lifted by the spiritual thermals of God’s power; but it is a choice unlike those without the power to soar. I still must choose. I must jump in faith and stretch out my wings in knowing trust and rise like hope above the crags beneath. I set my mind on the things above and I choose to soar.