Who Can Outrun the Wind?

Taking a kite outside never goes the way I picture it in my head. In my imagination, I’m the kind of dad who casually releases a perfectly assembled kite into a wide-open field. The wind cooperates. The string behaves. Children laugh. Strangers nod in approval. Reality, however, looks more like me untangling string that appears to have tied itself into knots out of spite, while holding a thin sheet of plastic that feels one strong breath away from ripping in half.

Then comes the running. I take off like I’m training for the Olympic trials, fully convinced that if I just sprint hard enough, this kite will launch into the sky like the Artemis rocket. For about five seconds, it sort of works. The kite wobbles eight feet above the ground, just long enough for hope to rise, and then it collapses. Over and over again.

Here’s the strange thing: the kite actually flies best when I stop running altogether. The kite was never designed to be powered by a middle-aged dad gasping for air. It was designed to be lifted by the wind that’s already there. My running is a poor substitute for a force far stronger than I could ever generate. If I really want the kite to fly, I have to stop, feel the breeze, and ask a better question: Which way is the wind blowing? Once I align the kite with the wind, everything changes. What felt impossible suddenly feels effortless.

In John 3, Jesus says the Holy Spirit is like the wind. You can’t see where it comes from or where it’s going, but you can see its effects. That metaphor matters because it exposes a tension many of us live with. We spend a lot of energy trying to manufacture spiritual momentum, trying harder, doing more, running faster, only to find ourselves exhausted and stuck close to the ground.

Jesus invites us to something different. Spiritual growth isn’t about generating our own power; it’s about alignment. The Spirit is already at work. God is already moving. The question isn’t, “How hard can I run?” but, “Am I positioned to receive what God is already doing?”

Discipleship begins not with striving, but with surrender. It means slowing down long enough to notice the direction of the wind, through Scripture, prayer, community, and obedience—and adjusting our lives accordingly. When we do, we discover what the kite teaches us every time: we were never meant to fly on our own strength.

We’ll be spending time in John 3 this weekend as we gather for worship—or as we hunker down at home, wondering if Canada is sending this cold weather as retaliation for the tariffs.