Martin flies a kite

“I wish I knew how to fly a kite,” Martin said, as he watched the big kids having fun in a nearby field. Brightly colored kites — blue, red, white — flitted through the air like enormous butterflies.

“Would you like to learn how, Martin?” Grandma asked.

“Sure I would,” he said. “But I don't have a kite or anyone to help me make one. Unless ...” He looked at his grandma hopefully. Grandma's eyes twinkled. “Let's get to work,” she said.

They got out some heavy paper, wood, scissors, glue, and twine. Grandma showed Martin how to build the frame with the pieces of wood, called dowels, and how to measure the paper that would cover the frame. Then, with Grandma's help, Martin carefully cut and glued the paper. How amazing it was that the kite could take shape so quickly! Finally, while Grandma attached the twine to the frame, Martin cut up a few of Dad's old ties to make a tail.

Now the kite was finished — a gorgeous yellow and green one. And off they went to fly it.

Out in the field, Martin ran with the ball of string in his hand, the kite soaring behind him. It flew so high that the string hummed.

“Did you know, Martin, that people are a little like kites?” Grandma asked, as she watched him maneuver the kite. “We're made to fly, to soar in the warm breeze way up high.”

Martin didn't take his eyes off his kite. The kite played with the wind. It tugged and puffed and snapped its bright tie tail in the summer sunlight. It was at home in the sky. Martin liked what Grandma had said. He thought about how much he loved her. And that made him feel free and light, like his kite.

Then he thought about God loving the two of them, right there where they were playing with the wind, flying the kite. “We are as happy in God's love as the kite is in the wind,” he thought.

Martin and Grandma watched the yellow and green speck dancing high above him. “Good and happy thoughts make us soar,” he said. “And sad thoughts can't keep us on the ground.”

Grandma smiled. Then the two of them ran along together, while the kite followed high above like a playful butterfly.

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The son who was lost
January 1, 2002
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