It’s 4am in Virginia when Jacob and I lock up the house, say goodbye to the kitties, and pile our luggage in the back of his Escape. I had just finished with school the day before, and the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. Nonetheless, we make our way down 64, to the airport, and on the plane: Denver-bound.
I hate flying. Seems strange, considering members of my family have been flying for as long as there have been planes. For me, turbulence certainly means that in any given moment the plane will spiral out of the sky uncontrollably. I envision how my husband will look at me if that happened. Then I try to stop the game of “worst-case-scenario” my mind likes to play on me and transfer my thoughts to what color I’ll paint the kitchen when I get back home.
We arrive safely. Thank the stewardess and the pilot. Pile out of the plane into the Denver terminal. Meet Jacob’s parents and steer into the clear Colorado air.
William Wordsworth writes, “My heart leaps up when I behold. A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!”
I get it. He’s saying that if his heart ever becomes numb to beauty, he’d rather die. My heart leaps up, too, when I see the snow-covered peaks towering 14,000 feet to the heavens. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m on earth, but these mountains seem so transcendent: formed by God– the only One Who could exceed them in size, strength, and beauty. John Muir, an important naturalist who made Yosemite his home, states, “The mountains are calling and I must go.” Gazing at the Rockies, though your feet are firmly planted on earth, there’s no place where it feels more like heaven. I