Swings and the Spirit

First a confession: The blog you, dear reader, are about to ingest is personal rather than profound. I know, you hoped for a literary leap into some deep allegory, or a ocean's worth of political commentary, but sadly, tis not possible today. Instead, allow me to take you back to the years of braces, ugly hairstyles, and annoying opposite genders-- let us journey to the swings.
The bell rings loudly in my eighth grade classroom. My feet hit the ground as I make my way quickly towards the door without appearing to eager to leave my favorite teacher's world of knowledge (West Virginia history). I tug my jacket on and turn to a thin boy with glasses and mussed brown hair. "Bet I can go higher this time," I throw out, waiting for him to catch the challenge. He sticks his tongue out like most junior high boys do and sprints out the door to recess (freedom) yelling "Yeah right!" as we both bolt for the metal towers of danger and adventure.
I run for a short distance, then slow down upon approach as I reach the sacred spot, showing my respect for my favorite friend. Second seat from the right, the one with my initials carved everyday in the dirt beneath it. I look at my partner in exploration, my best friend and most competition, and grin as we thrust off into uncharted skies. My feet leave the ground and I toss my mane back in the wind like the wild stallions of Chincoteague Island do after being released back to the beaches every year. My feet paw the air as I struggle to gain altitude, desperate to beat my long-legged contender. Finally, after gaining advantage, I relax, close my eyes, and listen to the North Wind sweep her long graceful fingers through my hair and strum the chords of my soul, relaxing all the stress mounting within. She whispers peace into my confused existence as I let her catch up the fragile seat and carry me through her transparent self. I allow her embrace to enfold me until the bell rings once more, this time a harsh sound, unwelcome, as I head to Alcatraz's cousin Algebra, her sweet voice still whispering in my ear.
Now, I am somewhat grown up I suppose, yet I still love the freedom only a swing can bring me. The ability to defy gravity, to sweep air in the undertow, to lose all cares about the world, makes me wonder why more psychologists don't recommend it for adult therapy. There remains something exhilarating and uplifting in the way we lose all the confines of the earth in the embrace of the wind. Perhaps this is why the Bible compares the Spirit of God to the wind after all.
The wind of the Holy Spirit does much the same as my old friend the silver swing. When we release all cares and inhibitions by taking our feet off the ground and allow Him total control over our course, He charts out new skies we never dreamed imaginable. He is the one who takes us soaring to such great heights, allowing the mundane cares of the world to sweep under our feet. He comforts us with his soothing touch, allowing us to forget conventions as he sweeps through our normal view of life. After our swing experience with His presence, we may not have the perfect appearance we had before (I can only hope you to imagine my hair after my adventures) to those around us, but maybe that is because we have had a distorted view of perfect. After all, Christians, those who have experienced a new birth in Christ, were not created to live like little ants tediously walking the ground in search of morsels to feed on and support their traditional way of life. Instead, we were created to soar in the clouds, to defy what man thinks is impossible and to embrace the unknown, the encompassing wind of God's presence that takes us to places we never thought to go on our own.
Perhaps thats why having a child's spirit is a good thing, Jesus said. After all, we will never experience God's peace and presence unless we are willing to shed our adult inhibitions and simply let our hair down, allowing the Spirit to sweep us off our earthen thrones into eternity.