Flight of the Arrow!
This story is a story of faith. It is an allegory of a journey with Christ looking unto Him who writes the pages of your life in love. It is centered on the verse in Hebrews 12:1, 2. Darby Translation: “Let *us* also therefore, having so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, laying aside every weight, and sin which so easily entangles us, run with endurance the race that lies before us, looking steadfastly on Jesus the leader and completer of faith: who, in view of the joy lying before him, endured [the] cross, having despised [the] shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.
It is also about the work of the Holy Spirit; written in the course of an “arrow in flight”. Flying together in a formation involves looking unto the leader to become one flight, one motion, and one mission. It involves yielding one’s own path. The peripheral world remains peripheral. Every move of the leader will be extended to the follower. The story:
In the cool air, I look above morning mist. I look to the east where the son’s light breaks over His horizon to shine on me. The creation of a new day is dawn. First whispers, then cracklings of light. Hints of shadows sharpening, then bold beams. Above and to the west is starlight waning. In between the night and glory of the day is royal blue set with regal purple, riding on golden glows of heaven’s light. Into the depths of morning, it invades the night. Starlight succumbs; it yields; it sparkles, and winks away.
This is the sky that fills my eyes. From this sky; from His throne up high; He descends from above. He is my Lord. He is my King. He makes my spirit sing. He is the Father; the Son; the Holy Ghost. Three in one is He, a formation with a slot for me. He swoops; He plunges; He lunges forward in elegant grace. His motion is the flight of three in one.
He knows my place, he knows my dwelling. He’s coming. He looks upon me, and opens His eyes. They peel away; they penetrate every shell that has ever been upon me. I see His eyes. I see His face. I feel His grace, calm and assured. There is no question; no doubt in His countenance. He looks not about. He looks only at me.
Quickening trust fills my heart, and flows from my inner depths. I spread my wings as if to fly, but not a jot do I move. The ground stays nigh.
He knows my plight, so He sends forth His word. The snare of the fowler is broken, and my freedom is set before me. I rejoice, and take flight to His eyes, that adore me. Without a struggle; without a fight; I join His winged flight.
In formation I’m in His shadow; in trust; in love; His spirit upon me; through me; and with my soul. I look unto the Lord. He is my focus. I look no other way. For, that is the way; His way; the way of the formation. Set within and sheltered on both sides, I look to Him before me. First a diamond, then an arrow, is our form. Pure without flaw, then pointed and directed.
Our way is His. His sight; His knowledge; His wisdom decides the path. Only His eyes know what lies ahead. I maintain a delicate touch upon my wings. The slightest move can set me out of place with the flight of three. My lord is white and lovely. His trailing feathers are the light that shines on me. His fragrance streams in luxurious light vapors that rest in my wings. Pure and simple, its smell permeates to taste, and is like spring flowers: honeysuckle, wisteria, and lilies. Love, in the formation, is the glue that binds us. My feathers are made soft and supple, rippling with ease, and made in truth for endurance. An owl’s wings have never been as soft as mine in my Father’s formation.
My Lord knows my strength. He knows my speed. He tests me. He teaches me. He grows me in the formation for the flight that is ahead. He perfects my flight, steady and surely, in preparation.
He knows the path ahead, so He gives me His yoke lest I stumble and fall away. He flies in graceful arcs and steady turns; rolling, twisting, spinning, plummeting and soaring. Through hard turns, I feel smashing weight. My voice is a groan. My head swoons. Vision fades. I feel shaking to the bone. Harder the turn goes. I fear my wings should snap. At his time, from the wing roots of my leader; My Lord, comes trails of vapor that surround me. Sweet fragrance of Him pulls me through; gives me direction, and fills my endurance. Stretching in the weight, I grow. My wings are shaped for His flight. They take form and shape according to his will. Then comes rest where breathes come easy. I see my Lord clearly, sharper than before. My heart is now racing; beating for Him. Weightless I am. From this point He rolls; He chooses direction, time, and distance.
He takes me to mountain peaks. They are lofty, with majestic strands of snow formed streaks, and airborne streamers. Lightest purple is their hue, with foundations of stone. No rumblings are heard. Deepest silence washes the air that stills in the valleys. Shadows cast down upon sheltered abodes. Refuge is here; impenetrable to unwelcome foes. We fly over windswept ridges, peaks, and stone bridges; thru treacherous canyons with walls, layered like onions.
Led on, straight in love, in truth; we come from mountain peaks to desert realms; parched plains of dust bowl balms; land of the withered; the ashen; and bleached white bones. My Father my Lord; we the formation, build up speed. Approaching in quiet, we fly the deck. Closer and closer we get. In the wake of our trail, is a rooster tail; seen all around, and heard behind, like the clap of thunder. The lands are kicked up. They are stirred. Hard packed ground goes supple. It crumples, flexes, and then relaxes no longer striated in hairline cracks. Smooth and reshaped, it is in form for the rivers that quicken their pace; sprinkling, then streaming, from peaks in the distance; surrounding and gleaming.
Cool waters quench the burning lands. We move in ascending circles upon rafters of pluming air. High above, He looks around. The land now grows. Blossoms, flowers, and chutes of green surround; in verdure, with a singing sound.
The formation of my father, the arrow flies on; never out of sight of low and lofty lands alike. All are before Him always. Nothing goes unseen.
We fly through storms, winter winds, summer breezes; over oceans; over fields; in and around every place. Nothing blocks His way. He does not relent. His heart is steadfast. He is my way, my truth, my life. He is love and truth in me. Together in the formation I ever await transformation in His Day. Hallelujah!
Betty Garrett says:
BEAUTIFUL!!! What a vivid poetic description of the journey of life with HIM!!!