Once upon a time there was a little boy who was raised in a orphanage. The little boy had always wished that he could fly like a bird. It was very difficult for him to understand why he could not fly. There were birds
at the zoo that were much bigger than he, and they could fly. “Why can’t I?” he thought. “Is
there something wrong with me?” he wondered.

There was another little boy who was crippled. He had always wished that he could walk and run like other little boys and girls. “Why can’t I be like them?” he thought.

One day the little orphan boy who had wanted to fly like a bird ran away from the orphanage. He came upon a park where he saw the
little boy who could not walk or run playing in the sandbox. He ran over to the little boy and asked him if he had ever wanted to fly like a bird.

“No,” said the little boy who could not walk or run. “But I have wondered what it would be like to walk and run like other boys and girls.”

“That is very sad.” said the little boy who wanted to fly. “Do you think we could be friends?” he said to the little boy in the
sandbox.

“Sure.” said the little boy.

The two little boys played for hours. They made sand castles and made really funny sounds with their mouths. Sounds which made
them laugh real hard. Then the little boy’s father came with a wheel chair to pick up his son. The little boy who had always wanted to fly ran over to the boy’s father and whispered something into his ear. “That would be OK,”
said the man.

The little boy who had always wanted to fly like a bird ran over to his new friend and said, “You are my only friend and I wish that there was something that I could do to make you walk and run like other little boys and girls. But I can’t. But there is something that I can do for you.”

The little orphan boy turned around and told his new friend to slide up onto his back. He then began to run across the grass. Faster and faster he ran, carrying the little crippled boy on his back. Faster and harder he ran across the park. Harder and harder he made his legs travel.

Soon the wind just whistled across the two little boys’ faces. The little boy’s father began to cry as he watched his beautiful
little crippled son flapping his arms up and down in the wind, all the while yelling at the top of his voice, “I’M FLYING, DADDY. I’M FLYING!”

Roger Dean Kiser,Sr.

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Flying is a true story. The author, Roger Dean Kiser, was the little orphan boy who carried his friend through the wind.

The only survivor of a shipwreck washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.  Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.

But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened; everything was lost. He was stung with grief and anger. “God, how could you do this to me!” he cried.

Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. “How did you know I was here?” asked the weary man of his rescuers. “We saw your smoke signal,” they replied.

It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad. But we shouldn’t lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain and suffering. Remember next time your little hut is burning to the ground–it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.

There is a loneliness about this place … this place of my choosing. Surrounded by the things of life, I have suddenly come face to face with the solitariness of life. One person, one life, one place, one God, one moment in time-solitary, alone, yet not alone.

God has chosen his way of filling this place and this space in my life with the “ordinariness” of life. How long has it been since I lost the sense of the wondrous, magnificent works of God? How long has it been since I have been excited about what God is doing before ray very eyes? How long has it been since God became ordinary?

How strange that the sun should become ordinary to me, that clouds, and rain, and snow, and sunshine have become common, pedestrian fare.

How strange that God should choose to speak through naked branches having neither bud nor bloom, that God should choose to utter sounds through rivers and streams frozen in place, in icicles glittering
promises of still more winter, still more discontent.

Or that God should choose to brave speaking through the commonplace roads of my existence and has made them icy, slippery, impassable, treacherous … sending me off in unknown directions, sliding, sometimes falling, meeting new hurt-in peculiar places. How strange of God to speak through the ordinariness of life. How strange.

I do not know  why I am here. I do not know what I am to do here. More to the point, I do not know how I got to this place, which is so far from where I started out, so far from the destination to which I was determined to go. I only know that I must follow that Voice, the Voice that speaks in tones that I am familiar with, tones that I have so often failed to listen to and failed often to understand or obey.

Could it be that I am in this lonely place, this solitary space, to wait again for the Empowering Presence?… to wait again for the Call that I alone am burdened to hear? … to wait again for that purifying, energizing, frightening fire that burns within?

I need to feel it again. I need to know that God’s fire is my fire. I desperately need to know that my loneliness is not permanent and that my solitariness is filled with the awesome purposefulness of God.

This moment, this hour, this time is not mine, it belongs to God. I am now wholly alone, wholly vulnerable, wholly available. Come, Holy Spirit, with wind and fire. Let your breath blow anew in my life. Penetrate my soul and my personality with the power of your touch. Broken, humbled, frightened, unsure of today and tomorrow … only sure that you are there. Come, Holy Spirit, use me now! Let the fire burn!