Posted on by gettingofftheinterstate

The Kite

by Donna Poole

The clouds threatened rain and the chilly wind echoed their warning. The usually crowded beach at Lake Michigan was almost empty except for the two people flying kites, a grandpa, and his little grandson.

The grandpa had three kites in the air already. Then he helped the little boy launch his kite, a beautiful butterfly, translucent blue, yellow and red with four long tails. The kite was taller than the boy was. The wind tugged at the kite and tousled the boy’s sandy blond hair. He danced with excitement, bare feet sometimes in the sand and sometimes at the edge of the asphalt parking lot. With Grandpa’s help his kite soared effortlessly high into the sky. Grandpa handed the string to his grandson, and the kite began wobbling erratically. Then it plunged to the sand.

I caught my breath as the child ran to his kite, sure it was broken and waiting for tears, but no, the kite was unharmed. Patiently, the grandpa helped the boy launch his kite again. It remained airborne for a few seconds longer this time, but again nose dived to the ground.

This time the grandpa didn’t help. He all but ignored the boy’s efforts. The little boy struggled to even pick up the kite, taller than he was. He dropped it once, twice, three times. The third time he tangled himself in the long red tails, but he just brushed them aside and tried again.

I guessed the boy to be three, maybe four years old, a little thing in a long-sleeved t-shirt and tan shorts. I kept waiting for him to call for his grandpa’s help or for his grandpa to offer, but neither thing happened. I only managed to stay in my own lane and mind my own business because I can barely keep my balance with my cane; I’d be no help to a little boy trying to get his kite in the air.

He was a determined little kid. The fourth time the kite lifted up, up…I held my breath. But no. Down it came with a crash. The fifth time he let the string out and the kite soared up high and higher into the sky above the lake.

“Yay!” he hollered. “Look! Look!” And he danced across the sand looking up at his beautiful butterfly kite, translucent blue, yellow and red with four long tails.

His grandpa looked; I looked; my eyes filled with tears. You go, little boy. Oh, the places you’ll go. Your grandpa won’t always be here to help you. Old ladies watching from cars with their canes won’t be able to help you. But I hope you know the Someone who will be able to help.

I sent the video I’d taken of the little boy with his kite to our granddaughter, Megan. She’d just finished her first semester of Physicians’ Assistant School. It had been hard. Megan is brilliant; if she says something is tough; it’s tough.

I knew if something had been difficult for Megan it would be impossible for me. She’d graduated cum laude with a degree in bio-chem from Hillsdale College. Bio-chem? I’d barely passed high school biology, had flunked high school chemistry once and just passed it the second time. So often during Megan’s semester I’d wanted to help her, but she was flying the kite, one shaped like a white coat. I was the old lady sitting in the car with my cane. But an old lady with a cane can pray for a beautiful young woman with blond hair and one dimple struggling to fly a kite taller than she is.

When I sent Megan the video of the little boy with his kite I texted, “He is you.”

 She texted back, “Little buddy was having a hard time for a minute there.”

When it came time for finals Megan was sick. Now she was struggling to fly her kite over Lake Michigan in a thunderstorm. And the old lady watching from the car with her cane cried. And prayed. And cried some more.

I hope that little boy with his kite learns to know the God Megan knows well. She worked impossibly hard, and she prayed even harder. And she flew her kite, the one taller than she is. It’s somewhere out of sight now, and all of us who love Megan are cheering! Her white coat ceremony is in a few weeks.

I just hope at the ceremony I can keep from pointing up and hollering, “Yay! Look! Look!”

Because if no one else there sees a kite shaped like a white coat dancing way up at the ceiling, they need an old lady with a cane to help them see it.

The End

Photo credit for Megan and me: Kimmee Kiefer

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have four other books on Amazon as well.

Please follow me on Facebook at Donna Poole, author

14 Replies to “The Kite”

  1. I just love every word of these wonderful stories. They say, “Write what you would like to read.” What you write is what I like to read. Thanks so much. Go Megan!

    1. Pastor Ken,
      You write what I like to read too!
      Thanks for the encouragement.
      Blessings, Donna

    1. Sandy,
      Thanks! Her white coat ceremony is this weekend!
      Blessings, Donna

  4. What a blessing you are to so many people. Congratulations To Megan. I’m sure she will treasure this article. Something to print and frame as a lasting remembrance.

    1. Karin,
      My long time friend, thanks for the many times you’ve encouraged me!
      Blessings, Donna

  5. O, Dear Donna, how I love this meaningful piece! Is it because as we grow older, moments that would have gone unnoticed when we were younger are now heavy with either blessing or portent? Recently, I watched a few episodes of an old tv series. The opening scene is always a young woman saddling her horse, in slow motion, the golden sun of an autumn afternoon softens the image as the theme song begins playing. The lovely horse slowly turns its face back toward the girl, its liquid brown eye sliding back to meet her gaze, and the song softly glides in and around the images: “And at the break of day, you sink into a dream, you dreamer/ You dreamer, dreamer/ Oh, you dreamer.” I cannot help the tears that suddenly spring to my eyes, nor the sobs I can barely contain. It is strangely unsettling, yet not unpleasant – this sudden flood of raw emotion. It is not about grief. Nor about joy. It is about beauty I think. A beauty remembered. A gift received. A Truth recalled. You see, the horse has the same countenance of my mare, Freida, who died at a good old age, back in the winter of 1999. She was half Arabian and half quarter horse. She was graced with the lovely, dished face of all hot-blooded Arabians, and the muscular haunches of a good quarter horse. She was a bay: russet brown, black mane, tail, and stockings. On her forehead she radiated a small, white star. Freida was the horse and I – I was the dreamer, for truly she fulfilled all my girlhood fantasies (though this dream did not come true for me, until I was in my mid-thirties). Little boys with their illuminated kites, wizened grandfathers with wide, patient hands, sweet college girls with their shining smiles and hopeful ambitions, old ladies, shading our eyes against the brilliance of God’s countless gifts – we are all just dreamers. Dreamers, rising at the wake of day, we sink into a dream. C.S. Lewis said living on this side of eternity is living in “”shadowlands” – this life being only shadows compared to the reality of heaven, where God has His throne, and where Jesus said, “I go to prepare a place for you.” (John 14: 3). I like this concept. Paul the Apostle said, “now we see through a glass [in a mirror] darkly, but then, [in heaven], face to face; now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known.” I Corinthians 13:12. What a wonderful promise for all of us dreamers, who wait at the footstool of God’s throne! We, His adoring and thankful children. We, His old dreamers who are preparing to leave these Shadowlands for that a far fairer Land. We, who no longer are embarrassed by sudden tears that glisten at the sight of little boys taming their wayward kites, or at the remembrance of a beloved horse and the once-young woman whose dreams she fulfilled. Thank you, dear Donna, once more for the incredible blessing of your writing, which never fails to speak directly to my heart. Reading your post was like watching a dream. Thank you so much. “May the LORD bless you and keep you, and make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you, may He lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.” Numbers 6:24-26. Amen.

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