This is the Air I Breathe

It’s early July and the sun is shining outside, with a brisk breeze stirring up the trees and bending the flowers. I’m sitting inside, in a cool interior room, wearing, among other items of apparel, a cardigan and wool socks. In July.

I grew up in southern California, where sockless sandals were de rigueur all summer long. Where tank tops and shorts exposed the skin to the warm sea breezes in July. I have to say that, even after all these years, I still miss that sense of summertime freedom.

However, when I step outside my back door and inhale deeply, I catch the fragrance of the flowers, or sometimes of the farm, but either way I catch natural fragrances. When the wind wafts into my face I sense its cleanliness and purity. 

When I have an appointment in town, I don’t need to factor in time of day with its probable traffic congestion. I rarely sit in a car idling in a traffic jam, where I would be breathing in all sorts of noxious fumes. 

The air may be cool, but it is clear. I sense that my lungs may be pink rather than black. 

All over the world, people are on the move. Migrating because of conflict or economic disasters, which makes their migration essential. But even in the developed nations, indigenous populations are migrating to the cities, to join the urban sprawl and breathe deep of the polluted air. Seeking a better life. The good life.

What is the good life? Jesus said that he came so that we would enjoy fullness of life. So just what is that, and how does Jesus coming facilitate or enable it to happen? Does it mean moving to clump together with others in the crowded cities of our time?

It has nothing to do with where we live.

Because Jesus lived and died for me, I can be filled with his Holy Spirit who, when he moves into my life, brings a deep inner peace and contentment and a sense of safety and fulfilment. I no longer need to chase after elusive dreams which draw me to pile into cities congested with people and fumes and negative energy and crime. 

I can step outside my door, wherever it is, and breathe deep. And revel in the moment of just being. Wool socks or none.