A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || November 18, 2007 || 10:12 pm

taking flight

So, my best friend went to Nashville for the day to participate in a suicide prevention walk. I know the park well, and I envisioned her and her family in my mind’s eye, praying peace over the event. I am stunned constantly at how prayer works.

When the Scotland team came back this year, there were lots of stories. I didn’t post many of the details, but there were snags and hiccups and frustrations getting them over there this time. The first plane was struck by lightning, and everything amassed and folded over and in on itself; the group was separated and eventually arrived in Glasgow over the course of three days, in three groups of about five each.

But the snags, it appears on reflection, weren’t necessarily all missteps. Maxim, Scout, our pastor and his son and one other boy (who Scout had mentioned before they left, saying that she would like to get to know him better, as he is a reserved person) were in the longest-delayed group, who saw about four cities more than they initially expected and who all had their first New York City cab ride(s) that weekend.

They remarked that getting bumped up to first class on the longest leg of their trip was God’s reward for their having had to suffer that particular injustice.

So yeah, there were lots of stories, but there is one that leaves me breathless and just humbled in the strangest way and amazed in the biggest one. It involves an older stewardess. This particular stewardess, it turns out, was around when God poked Maxim and said, “Hey. Say this to her.”

So Maxim began writing it down and when he had opportunity, he handed the sheet to her. “The whole time I was writing it,” he said to me later, “I kept thinking, ‘Man, this sure is some cheesy stuff.’” She went away and attended to her duties, but after some time she returned to speak to Maxim and D.

Turns out, Maxim had transcribed near-verbatim a letter that her son had written to her. The guy is imprisoned, and she prays fervently for him. She had asked God recently for confirmation that he would be redeemed, would be okay. It came to her in the form of a note pressed into her palm, while rocketing across an ocean thousands of feet in the air.

That’s not the story that knocked my socks off. This one is: The stewardess began telling them of groups of stewardesses that meet to pray over the cities they are headed to. She also said that groups of them take time to gather and pray –on their approach to them– over the cities they are landing in. Every last time I hear or think about that, I am just so hopeful and so grateful. Even if you don’t believe in God or prayer, you’ve got to be bowled over by the notion of some people crisscrossing the country AND the planet, putting out good energy over its cities and the people in them.

There is a beautiful balance to this world that sometimes astounds me. I can’t figure out if its the simplicity or the complexity of it, but I don’t much care to. Sometimes it is good to just be.

I spent most of the weekend in my studio, bent over this project and that. I rarely slept, and when I did it was only lightly. I think I bathed only once, and that was for church this morning. There was glue on my clothes, cuts and scratches adorned my hands and paint seeped into them, making them a strange and sort of beautiful landscape to look on. I worked until my head was muddy and my back ached, and still the ideas kept pounding away; given the slightest way for entry into my active brain, they zinged back and forth, singing in strange and gorgeous tongues.

I am overtaken in these moments, and I swear that if duty didn’t call, I could spend a twitchy, rewarding week straight in that room, hammering and smoothing and sanding and twisting and painting and cutting. Lips chapped and hair fuzzy, letting my brain hummmm, pounding glass after glass of ice water and eating only when I’ve remembered that I’ve forgotten to.

Happy, so happy, that it is November, that fall has lasted several weeks now, that my muse is out and about and stomping around my innards once again.

2 worked it out »

  1. chris robinson 11.19.2007

    This is an amazing story. On top of it all your muse has been unleashed. Would you send some of the energy this way? Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.

  2. Jettomatika 11.19.2007

    Chris, you are a dear.


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