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Tuesday morning I dropped Sophie off in Leiper’s Fork to check out a school. The long drive is not something I typically do any other morning. Just think Tennessee farms, horses, and fog settling beneath the branches of empty trees on a cool winter morning. On the way home, I purposefully let up on the gas pedal and turned the radio off. The quiet helps me think. And remember.

It’s hard to believe that just two nights before, eerie tornado sirens were drowned out as the wind whipped through the Bradford pears and delivered hail and buckets of water.

This calm after the storm reminds me of a time when Sophie and I flew to Texas to visit my mom. On the way to the airport, Regi said, “Not such a great day to fly.” The sky was gray and the thunder deep within the horizon made me think the second coming was underway. I got nervous when the pilot came over the loud speaker to announce that the beverage service would be delayed. That always means trouble.

The plane’s ascent felt like I was riding in my mom’s blue Pinto on the dirt road of my childhood rather than in an MD 80. If you could get inside my mind at these times, you’d hear me praying the Rosary, meditating, reciting the books of the Bible, and then settling in as I lock into a familiar Rich Mullins tune. I make sure my bases are covered.

This particular flight occurred after I’d had a conversation with my mom about spatial disorientation. (I bring these things on myself.) I managed to convince myself that we were experiencing that phenomenon as we sliced through the clouds. Were we right side up or upside down? It looked as though the clouds were slapping the windows of the plane; we were in an all out tug-of-war as we climbed. Sophie nestled her head in my lap and fell asleep. I gripped my armrests as the guy in 14B read the newspaper.

Eventually we shot out of the clouds and we were sitting atop what resembled muddy cotton candy. Now that we were over the storm everything was breathtaking. Blue skies stretched as far as my eye could see. And not just any blue; it was bluer than anything Crayola has ever attempted. The airplane was so calm that I wondered if the storm had been that bad. Did I overreact? Finally the familiar ding echoed across the loud speaker and the illuminated seat belt disappeared.

Wouldn’t it be so much easier if we could all be ensured a smooth ride?

The truth is, we will encounter turbulence along our way. I’ve come to learn that often the only path to a blue sky is the one that goes right through a mean storm. I’m talking a choppy, knuckle-gripping squall that lasts longer than the weatherman predicted. But think of this: it’s only after the misery of winter that yellow daffodils are prompted from the ground!

Perhaps that blue sky is placed above us as an anchor. An anchor of hope that says we’re in for some tough times and that we need to buckle up. An anchor that reminds us there is something greater beyond the blue. An anchor, firm and steady.

Whatever it means for you, I pray you find the courage to get through your situation. After all, it’s usually the most uncomfortable road that takes you on the ride of your life!

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8 Comments

  1. Kristi on the January 27, 2012 remarked #

    This was truly beautiful and something I needed to hear. Thank you for sharing!

    • Kimberlee Stone on the January 28, 2012 remarked #

      Glad it spoke to you, Kristi! I know there are blue skies ahead for you!!

  2. Elina on the January 27, 2012 remarked #

    It’s a vivid picture, and the blue is beautiful. Thanks for the reminder.

    • Kimberlee Stone on the January 28, 2012 remarked #

      Yes it is. So worth the ride just to catch a glimpse of it!

  3. mom on the January 28, 2012 remarked #

    Beautiful – reminds me the blue skies are just ahead. You are a wonderful writer – keep it up.
    Love you very much

    • Kimberlee Stone on the January 28, 2012 remarked #

      So many analogies in my life come from flying the friendly skies. Thanks for your support now and during all those flights when I gripped your arm out of fear only for you to say,”Bump? What bump? That’s completely normal. You’ll be fine.” That’s a message we should all replay over and over and over. xo

  4. Heather Woosley on the February 24, 2012 remarked #

    Wow-read this because I am afraid to fly, but got so much more. We are waiting at the moment to find out if my 11year old daughter has cancer. I have been on a roller coaster of emotions the past week, but have felt God’s strength holding me together. Thank you for reminding me there is something on the other side of this.

    • Kimberlee Stone on the February 24, 2012 remarked #

      Heather, I have faced many bumpy rides, but never like what you must be feeling now. I thank you so much for sharing about your daughter. I know this…God already knows the outcome, already has a purpose for whatever answer comes your way, and will give you the strength to get you through this. It’s no question that we will face uncertain times in life; you must rely on His grace to carry you. I pray right now that He comes in and breathes healing upon your daughter and gives you peace that passes all understanding. Please keep me posted and let her know she is in our prayers!

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