I was thinking just the other day about how I would really like to fly. Not in an airplaine. Like a bird. Not like the jumping-off-of-something-and-hoping-for-the-best kind of flying. A controlled take-off, soaring up into the sky and gliding over the landscape, rushing past rivers and fields and grazing the mountaintops and swooping into the valleys. To really fly away from the ground and into the incredible freedom of the limitless sky would be liberating. Like burning my bra and quitting my job and punching some guy in the stomach all at once. And amid my daydreams of aviation, I remembered something... It's really going to happen someday. Says so right here in Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians (4:16-17):

¹⁶For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. ¹⁷After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

Awesome. I was wondering if I should buy some of those brown goggles and a red scarf right now. You know, just to get ready. I could wear them every day just in case that might be the day Jesus comes back for me. Then I wouldn't get a bug in my eye whilst I danced about the sky with Him. Yes, of course I'm being silly, but I would so love to fly with goggles and a red scarf. And maybe one of those brown leather hats with the ear flaps. You think anyone would recognize me if I looked like the Red Baron?

Some days, I dream about somedays. And on others, I look back to yesterdays. Either way, misty eyes turn into torrents of tears, but I'm not ashamed of that. I think tears are a gift of the Lord for the pouring out of my unwanted passions and unheeded heartbreak in a wholesome way. The relief I feel is incredible, not having to explain why or what hurts, but just feeling it acutely until the fears and aches and sorrows are wrung from my heart. Until the flood slows to a trickle... and then dries up in the sun as the clouds part and Love shines through.

I often wonder what I'd be if I didn't feel trapped here. I hold onto a postcard I received from a missionary organization once. It was a manner of form letter, though hand-written, with a message telling me that some far-off sister had prayed for me that day. On the opposite side is spread a photograph of a missionary driving over a primitive wooden bridge in a rugged-looking jeep. I like to imagine myself sitting in the passenger seat, opening my wallet whenever the tire is flat or when the gasoline is low. That is my role right now, seen from an adventuresome perspective. But what a terrible and glorious day it would be when I should truly go where someone else would send! Of course I have more prosaic visions of myself, but none so wholly satisfying as that.

There is so much in my journal of the Warrior Princess. She is my ideal and my great dream. But when does she leap off the page and join in my losing battles? What victorious day will see her power and courage accomplishing great feats of eternal significance through my feeble arms and legs? I know I cannot be the only woman in the world disappointed with her own character. But mine is the only flawed character for which I will be held accountable... in this life and in the next.

Is there any way to escape the mania for marriage and babies when you're my age? I mean, it's all around me. I can't walk down the street or work a full day or turn on the computer without being slapped in the face with somebody's outrageous happiness over their amazing husband or brilliant children. "Oh, the love of my life and I are going to have dinner later. I wish you could know the bliss of discovering your soul mate through an internet website. If life doesn't deliver happiness... go out and hunt it down like a dog." "Little Johnny pooped in the big boy potty today! Nothing in your shallow, lonely life can compare with the incredible joy and fulfillment of motherhood." Maybe my life is empty. I don't have a career I love to throw myself into. I don't have a new family or even many friends. I don't even like my dog that much, to be honest. But if anyone thinks that meticulously constructing a kind of security for myself by hunting down a husband and getting myself knocked up is going to change anything... they're dead wrong. I like to be alone. I prefer it. I can stand other people for brief periods, and then I have to get out. Only once in my life did I meet someone who I wanted to spend time with for more than a few days at a time, and even that turned out to be a source of misery in the end. Maybe not everybody is cut out for marriage. Maybe not everybody would be a good mother. Maybe some people have a hard enough time taking care of themselves, without also being responsible for others. And maybe some people don't want to hear about how wonderful it is that you have those things.

Is that wrong? I mean, am I required to fuss over your baby or to be happy for some girl because she's getting married? What if I think it's a mistake? Do I still have to go dress shopping with her and celebrate the thing that I think she might begin to regret within 2 years? Only twice, in all my years as a bridesmaid and a flower girl, have I ever been truly happy for somebody because they were getting married. Everybody else, I think, could've done better if they were more patient. Or maybe I was just annoyed by how much attention and praise they received for something that was no accomplishment at all. If you win gold at the olympics, I'll get excited for you. If you work with at-risk youth and see them through to graduation, I'll sing your praises. But just finding some guy who's willing to give up what he wants in life so you'll be happy enough to sleep with him isn't really anything to write home about. That's not enough to make the world revolve around you. Not even for a few months. I'm not impressed. Call me when you cure diabetes or translate the Bible into a remote tribal language.