Sitting in church today, I tried to listen to the sermon, but my thoughts flew up into the rafters and began to build nests of ideas.
Uncomfortable, I shifted around in the chair trying to find a better position. Sliding my foot across the floor to stretch, sprawling out, I attempted to break the invisible chains that constrained me to the structured, straight-backed chair, but was unable to break free. I was kept grounded, restricted.
My thoughts took flight, draping ropes over rafters until the whole chapel was full of swings. Can you imagine how terribly distracting it would be for the preacher if the whole congregation was moving up and down, trying to hit the ceiling with their feet, giving each other underdogs? It’s ridiculous! It’s wonderful!
As feathers fell from the beating wings of thoughts—hammocks, gliders, and recliners also flew into the chapel. I thought of all of the best ways to sit and decided that perched up in a branch of a tree was the best place every time. My thoughts landed on the rafters, weighing them down until the beams sunk out of the ceiling toward the floor, creating enough room for people to sit and dangle their feet.
With our heads in the clouds, what better place to hear voices from heaven?
I lifted my face up to the ceiling and saw a kaleidoscope of flying colors, but all around me, heads were bowed like soldiers offering themselves openly to their punishment—decapitation.