On the wings of the evening I fly home. Sonic, grits, sweet potato fries and fellowship sitting full in my belly. I enter the in between.

Airports transport us out of time.

We wait, suspended, for hellos. We travel from one good-bye to another greeting with all our tears and hopes packed in a small carry on suitcase that can fit in the compartment above our heads. Elbows rub elbows with strangers who stare straight ahead. Shifting positions and eyes we are all looking deep inside our own heads.

We dream.

We run with all the force of a full throttle engine, leap into the night sky and let our dreams catch the currents of warm air. And in that space we are the Wright Brothers, throwing caution to the wind and daring to hope for the unexpected. That something we’ve prayed in the dark, quiet hours of home might be able to unfurl untested wings and soar.

I am learning not to be afraid of God-sized dreams.

Boarding pass in hand, I am ready to fly with Him.

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