I sit on the porch and watch my grandson build a ramp for his Matchbox race cars.
I start to sit forward and open my mouth to correct his ramp design – there is no way cars can go down what he has so very thoughtfully constructed.
But (thankfully) before I can open my mouth, Rowen takes his car and lifts it into the air and flies it up and down over his beautiful ramp, twisting and turning in whatever direction his little hands direct before coming to a safe landing on the other side.
But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe engineers dream of cars that fly elegantly over buttresses fixed firmly to the walls of our minds.
Maybe it’s my imagination, my vision, that’s limited.
And maybe, just maybe, God has planted us here, fixed as we are so firmly to the ground, with just a whisper of how far we can fly if we will but open our minds to the possibility.