Paragliders and Rethinking Life in the In Between
A picture book I used to read when I taught toddler classes years ago was titled, What the Sun Sees, by Nancy Tafuri. Busy birds, animals, and children enjoyed sun-filled days on the colorful pages. When the sun story ended in the middle of the book, I closed it, flipped it upside down (or was it right side up?), and started over. The back of the book was now a new title page, What the Moon Sees.
The book was essentially two books in one, with adventures to be enjoyed under the sun and under the moon.
Children loved the concept of reaching the middle and then starting over.
But in the life?
The middle is an uncomfortable place to be. Right?
Did you like sitting in the middle when you were a child? That awkward hump in the back seat, squashed between siblings claiming inches of turf on long road trips?
Yeah. Me neither.
I can’t say my opinion on being in the middle has changed, especially in the place of in-between. Between beginnings and endings. Or endings and beginnings.
That flipping of everything to start again.
But in nature, wonder is found in the places of transition. When winter turns to spring. When sunlight gives way to moonrise.
When What the Sun Sees becomes What the Moon Sees.
Last month, when my sister, Lisa, and her husband, Dan, came to visit, we decided to experience both the sunset and moonrise on Treasure Loop in the Superstition Mountains. The timing couldn’t have been better with only six minutes separating the two.
Sunset: 6:01 pm. Moonrise: 6:07 pm.
And not just any moonrise, but a full moon. The Full Snow Moon.
Our daughter, Katelyn, joined us as we snapped dozens of photos of the sun setting in the west, transforming the desert skies into a kaleidoscope of shifting colors.
Yellows. Oranges. Purples. Reds.
Entertained by the cascading notes of a curved-bill thrasher in a nearby wash, we hiked higher for a better view.
“What’s that noise!” I exclaimed when a sound like a gunshot reverberated near us. Since we were out on a well-traveled trail, I wasn’t expecting to have to dodge some gun enthusiasts participating in target shooting. But I knew it was still possible.
I knew one thing. I didn’t want to be the bullseye.
Almost immediately, we heard another sound—the sound of giant wings unfurling, but louder than any eagle or condor I had ever heard. What was happening?
“Paragliders,” Dan exclaimed as one leapt from the cliff above us, the canopy billowing in the evening breeze.
Two more followed, one after the other. They glided above us as we stood, jaw-dropped, among the saguaros and cholla cactus.
paragliders in the Superstition Wilderness
I wondered how long they had sat there, on the cliff edge, waiting for the colors of sunset to frame an unforgettable memory.
How long have I waited on the edge of indecision, waiting for perfect clarity? Could it be time to take a risk and launch myself into the unknown?
Perhaps.
All I know is the middle place between What the Sun Sees and What the Moon Sees can be beautiful.
Very beautiful.
Maybe it is time for me to rethink my opinion of living in the in-between.
A Verse to Carry in Your Soul's Backpack
Do you find yourself in a season of in-between? After an ending but before a beginning? Or vice versa? Take this verse for a walk this month:
You have encircled me behind and in front,
And placed Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is too high,
I cannot comprehend it. Psalm 139:5-6 NASB
You are encircled in your in-between.