The day before we left Vermont was that strange time. That time in between – liminal. It’s the day when we pack up and leave. We never quite want to go and yet staying isn’t possible. There is a sense of elasticity to the day.

LightHusband and I spent some time down on the big dock throwing tennis balls for Sam. He loves swimming and retrieving balls. I watched the last sailboats of summer parade up the lake. Grand and glorious ladies they were, dipping and swaying in their billowy skirts. The breezes were just right for them yesterday.

I thought about the wind again as I had the day before when LightGirl took her glider ride. She had expressed some misgivings before hand to her grandparents because the glider is so small. They talked about the fact that gliders are actually safer than airplanes because they are built to glide on the currents; their body shape and wings are aerodynamically made to glide to safety, but an airplane is made so that it relies on its engines for lift.

I pondered the difference between machine travel and windborn travel as I watched those sailboats yesterday. Machine travel is definitely more efficient. We have much more control over when we leave and when we arrive. Humans are in control of the process when we use machines. But there are costs involved for gaining that efficiency and control. We give up the ability to control our level safety. Gliders and sailboats are much safer than airplanes and motorboats. We also have to count the environmental cost of running large airplanes and boats.

I thought about embracing that spirit of being blown in the direction of the wind. Of casting off the lines that hold your boat to the dock and setting sail. Or casting off the line to the tow-plane and setting free on the thermals.  It’s not efficient.  We cannot control it.  We don’t know how long we’ll be in the air or on the water.  And we can’t take very much with us.

I’m currently reading The Celtic Way of Evangelism.  I have been under-impressed with some bits of this book.  But the current chapter has been an intense look at drug culture and rehabilitation.  The author makes a good point that people who are intensely involved in drugs have taken on an entire way of life.  When they attempt to rehabilitate they need a new story.  However, they are only given assistance with the medical part of their problems.  They need help learning a new language, gaining a new wardrobe, learning life skills, finding a new tribe, etc.  They need a new story.  So we help them get off drugs, but they are left to wander in a desert, bereft of story, friends, language and tribe.  They don’t know what to do anymore or where to go or how to be.

When I read that I understood how that feels.  We are wandering.  Bereft of story.  We need a new one.  We are searching now.  The wind is becoming our friend.  We are dropping our possessions and learning to travel light.  We are not in control of how long we will remain windborn and we can’t take very much with us.  My heart is in my throat and I need to let go of tow line.  It is a wandering time.