There is a particular beauty in the descent.
It starts high above the clouds. There’s a calm, steady repose to the soaring.
Volcanoes peeking through the clouds in Guatemala.
Then, it happens. The sensation of descent. Of being lowered to a destination
far better than the sky can offer.
It’s hard not to cry.
Because it’s the first descent of many.
Descents to joy. To pain. To a hunger and a filling. A descent into the very arms of God.
Strange that descent should look just like elevation. Then again, Christ has been there – is still there. He knows what it is like to soar, and to intentionally descend. The joy, the pain, the offering of b
etter. He knows it all. Perhaps that’s why it feels so natural, and the expectation of seeing Christ in the faces of the poor and orphaned is so strong.
For He, who had always been God by nature, did not cling to His prerogatives as God’s equal, but stripped Himself of all privilege by consenting to be a slave by nature and being born a mortal man. And having become man, He humbled Himself… Phil.2:5
Courtney and I now sit, breathing in the afternoon like it was the finest of perfumes. Birds are singing and a bell rings in the distance. The countryside is full of color and the sky hangs heavy overhead. We’re ready for the next descent.
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