AA for a Recovering Balloon Chaser

My uncle used to drive a balloon chaser - a big red truck with "Balloon Chaser" splashed proudly across its side, made and marked to track and retrieve hot air balloons as they surf along the wind and slowly drift back to earth. I don't remember us ever having chased a balloon, though I always thought it would be a grand adventure, and dreamily traced the bold white lettering with my grimy fingers each time we visited their home.

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I attended Missions Fest this weekend - kind of an annual tradition for me. Wander through the rows of booths, making casual inquiries of a variety of missions agencies about the opportunities that they offer. Fly off to Namibia or Burkina Faso to rescue prostitutes from their lives on the street. Live village life in volatile southern Sudan with people who know war because they've experienced it. Teach in a rural Kenyan school and adopt a precious Kenyan child. Those were the dreams... the balloons I've chased. Not out of certainty that God is leading me in that direction, but out of the need to go somewhere and do something adventurous and meaningful. North America has always seemed dull, boring, second-rate, less significant.

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I felt like a misfit this weekend. I did not fit in my own skin, like a reptile molting, its outer skin having grown stiff and brittle, slowly flaking away. It was uncomfortable and awkward. I found myself robbed of my ability to make casual inquiries of ever-patient mission reps some of whom have now heard my casual inquiries several times over. The balloons had vanished, and I didn't know what to do without the thrill of the chase. I tried really hard to resurrect an old balloon or two, but I couldn't. Like it or not, I have lost the desire to go balloon chasing on an adventure to some far-off land.

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I finally stopped. And now I hear Him ask me from His position beside a barely anchored balloon, "Want to go up?" I have never had a hot air balloon ride. My dad was a pilot - wings, a prop, and landing gear - these are reasonable pieces of equipment. Balloons seem like they might just be full of hot air. Invisible, untouchable, weightless air.

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Where are we going?

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Wherever the wind blows us. You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it's headed next. Want to go up? Stop pretending obedience to Me. Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.

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How blessed is the man whose strength is in You...

No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts,

How blessed is the man who trusts in You!

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Want to go up?