5:30 pm

It's 5:30pm, on April 6th, 2009, and I can't text or call Heather's cell phone any more. Her plane is gearing up to leave the runway. Everyone is seated. Everyone buckled. The plane is backing up. The pilot is welcoming the masses to the flight bound for London. The plane is now getting in line to wait its turn. As the speed increases, I sit here wondering what she is thinking - what is she praying?

While the moment is heavy, my heart notices the opportunity for God to show Himself faithful.

The trees are faster, now. The engines louder. The runway is approaching the end. I sit here, at my kitchen table, looking out the window at the same sky Heather will be flying through. Its a beautiful spring day, in Texas.

The plane's nose points up. I do not get to go and she has too. The wheels begin to collapse. She is off to a new world, a new adventure. The force of the plane is matched only by the anticipation of her heart. I sit here and cry.

What will be will not be what is. It's this time, this sacrifice, this grief that cultivates the hope needed to know God is at work.

Climbing to its elevation, that plane carries my best friend. Roaring through the sky, that plane is something I cannot, and do not want to, stop. Maybe she is seated by the window looking out at the same sky as me.

~Sarah