Soaring

The new app that Amy had on her phone allowed us to see where she was on her trip to Arizona to be with her daughter as her grandson entered the world. It even allowed the distant viewer from across the globe to see how fast she was driving.
"Amy," I texted, "Let Jim drive! You are going 80! Your grandson will wait for you. You should show up alive!"
"80 is the speed limit," she texted.
I presume she was not driving 80 and texting. I hoped her husband was doing at least one of those tasks.

Renee was scheduled for her c section right as our Science Olympiad helicopter practice commenced. It was to be a three hour practice, since it might be the last time we could get the church with the high ceilings before the competition.
As our practice got underway, I got a text from Amy.
"She's going to OR!"

I watched our team, but honestly, I was distracted and worried. An hour went by and no text from Amy. Fortunately, the other parent helping me had been a labor and delivery nurse.
"It's been an hour," I lamented, "Do you think everything is ok?"
"It's fine," Rebecca assured me, "There is a lot going on right now."
The kids sent their helicopter soaring. And it did soar, all the way till it got stuck on a ledge. The patient security guard found a ladder and got it down for us.

Another text from Amy:
"7 pounds 14 oz!"
"He must be here!" I yelped, as I quickly texted back.
"Healthy?"
"Yes!"
"Renee doing well?"
"Yes!"
Our team snapped a rubber band and our best helicopter vanished into unsalvable smithereens.
"20 1/2 inches!" texted Amy.
And then the picture came. The helicopter team, Rebecca, and I gathered around my phone and gazed at the new little baby boy. Gregory.

Our next best helicopter was prepared for flight. The rubber band snapped and slashed a hole in the rotor.
"I guess practice is over?" asked the team.
Success and failure, all mingled in one day. Beginnings and endings. Triumphs and disappointments. The injured helicopters, along with the mortally wounded ones were packed back in their boxes. We headed home.

I sat up with my iPad on my lap till midnight, reading the facebook posts and looking at the pictures streaming in from Amy. I had fun drawing little Gregory on my iPad, and texting Amy as she drove back to her daughter's home late that evening. My bedtime is usually 9, but I knew I wouldn't sleep. I gazed at the picture of the little baby, with all the hopes and dreams of the world on his tiny shoulders.

When I finally did close my eyes that night, I saw helicopters whirling to the sun, rotors splashing rainbow glitter from heaven. And watching its flight was a new mother with a sleeping child nestled against her heart, beating in the rhythm of eternity.

Isaiah 49: 13-18
Shout for joy, you heavens;
rejoice, you earth;
burst into song, you mountains!
For the Lord comforts his people
and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.
But Zion said, "The Lord has forsaken me,
the Lord has forgotten me."
"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are ever before me. Your children hasten back,
and those who laid you waste depart from you. Lift up your eyes and look around;
all your children gather and come to you.
As surely as I live," declares the Lord,
"you will wear them all as ornaments;
you will put them on, like a bride.

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