The weights of life love nothing more than to crush me into the ground. If they had their way, I would be nothing more than powder sprinkled on the ground or scattered by the wind. The weights of life are cruel; not just cruel, though, but crafty as well. So crafty as to make me forget that I was born with wings.
Sadly, it seems as if there are only rare time I remember my wings. Like when I’m playing piano. When the music flows from my fingers and my eyes are closed and my ears hear nothing in the world except the imperfectly perfect melody filling the air around me – then I can fly. When my nieces look at me with adoration in their eyes and tell me they love me and want to be just like me when they grow up – then I can fly. When the words of Scripture break free from their ink and paper shackles and come to life before me, reminding me of just exactly who God is and how deep and wide and long His love is for me – then I can fly. When the words I set to paper come easily and breathe life into images and scenes that previously existed only in my head – then I can fly.
The truth is, I always have the ability to fly, to be who God destined me to be. It’s just hard to remember because of those silly weights. Maybe that’s why the author of Hebrews urges us to “lay aside every weight … and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus” (Hebrews 12:1-2, KJV). He understood that weights attach themselves to us and keep us from our God-potential, and he also knew that turning to and focusing on Jesus is the only way to truly keep the weights from winning their vicious battle.
What keeps you from flying? Look to Jesus and know that He is more than able to lift any weight that has settled upon you.