Optical Allusionist

In Utah it is 7:45. Tiny children are brushing their teeth. Campus couples are sending each other good night kisses over the phone. And I am here, where the time is somewhere between 9:45 and 1:45, racing the sun on my trip to Germany.

Have you ever seen the complete and utter blackout beneath you as you fly over the ocean, at such a dark time of night as this? The sky blends nearly with the horizon and a competitive quest to find who can be the darker blue. The moon hangs ominously in the corner of the horizon, casting a shadowy yellow--- giving light to the dimples in the ripples of the waves.

I pull in the blanket over my hair- pressing it to the corners of the window- in an effort to better inhale the magic of a midnight trans-atlantic flight. The overwhelming aura of suspense and mystery soak the air, giving me a sense of persistent humidity.

Only the light on the tip of the wing blinks rudely into the serenity, sending an explosion of sound into the intervals of foreboding silence. Like the Whos in Whoville, they seem to cry "We are here! We are here!" But they don't understand. They have no sense of respect for the permanence of the scene. While inventions come and go, the ocean, the moon, the ripples will never die. They are the essence of immortality.

Immortal. Man's creations, though we may try, can only be cheap copies of the beauty God has provided us. We are coming to understand that it is only the things that will never die that hold worth. Love will never die. Family will never die. Agency will never die. They won't.

The elegant silk of the seemingly-never-ending fabric of the Atlantic continues to ripple. And it will always be that way. But remember to listen for the crunch of a brittle leaf beneath the heel of your shoe. Remember the sunrises and the sunsets and the moonsets. Remember to pause for the trans-atlantic moments. Remember immortality.