On a trampoline, feeling warm and cold: a short story.

I clamber onto the trampoline and lie down. It is early November. The sun glints warmly through a veil of cirrus.

I have on a jacket and exercise shorts. The cold breeze rubs down my legs while the sunlight warms my dark hair and clothes. I shiver.

Above me, endless the autumn sky stretches its touchless expanse. Blue, mottled with vague clouds gleaming faint gold in the fall sunlight. It invites me to gaze up into the eternities. I feel trapped, smothered beneath its chilled beauty, its vastness, its apparent emptiness.

I close my eyes. The breeze whispers to me. It is cold. The sunlight kisses my face. Shivering, I turn myself over, willing my back and calves to receive its share of warm and cold.

I press my glasses against the trampoline. My eyes focus on the ground through the rubber mesh. Beneath me, blue and faint red gravel together with sickly weeds scatter across the dirt, just a few feet from my eyes. The mess of colors and textures invites my scrutiny. The snaking stems of the dying plants capture more of the faint gold light, casting complex shadows across the chipped rocks. The amazing detail of each unique shape impresses and awes me. And I know the moment I step off the trampoline, my foot will hit solid ground that I can support myself with. I smile and feel empowered.

Heaven, or earth?

The veil of cirrus passes from over the sun. The light intensifies. The back of my legs and arms warms pleasantly. I smile again. Life is beautiful.

I hear my father approach in his 'gator. He stops nearby, unnoticing of my presence. I sit still, listening to the idling of the engine as he dismounts to collect tools.

Minutes go by.

Soon I hear the sound of feet stepping onto the floor of the gator, the settling of a body into the seat. The sound of the engine rises and falls away into the distance, then dies.

I sigh.

Will I ever be whole?

I hear the sound of the pump, the spatter of water on dirt.

I force myself off the trampoline and amble to the edge of the lawn. Close by, the sprinkler pump drains the water from the lines and the water pit. The water gleams as it stumbles across the landscape. Fluid motion has always been so beautiful, I think to myself.

I see my father at the pump, gazing at the water as it jets out of the pipe. I wander over and stand next to him. We talk.

“Did you see me out here and come out to talk?” He asks.

I tell him I was on the trampoline.

“Oh,” he says, looking sheepish. “I didn't even see you. Observant me!”

I would be angry. That dark spot within urges me to be angry. But I don't listen. I choose not to. I smile instead.

We talk for another moment. I hitch a ride back to the house on the gator. He stops in the gravel expanse by his tool shed, several feet from the house. I am barefoot.

“Whoops,” he said, “if I had seen that I would have dropped you off by the house!”

I would be angry. That dark spot within urges me to be angry. But I don't listen. I choose not to. I smile instead, for he is not my father but a mirror within which my own distorted reflection laughs back at me.

I love my father.

I step gingerly back towards the house, the gravel pricking into my feet at the behest of the 200 pounds of weight they support. It is okay. I like the pain. At least it is a pain I can stand.

As I amble back into the house, I hear the words form in my mind:

“...there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.
And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”

I sigh. There would be no deliverance today. Was I to take hope in that? How?

“Thy weakness shall be made strong,” threads through my mind.

I sigh once again. I gaze at my phone, noticing a text that says “I love u.”

Perhaps there will be deliverance. But not today.

In the meanwhile, I will gaze at the heavens, and I will gaze at the earth, and be grateful that I am here, now, today.