The Wind in James' Face.

Steps walked: 8439.

Furthest point travelled: 1.5 miles. Family cycle to Firs Farm Wetlands.

Face to face non-household interactions: 3.

Track of the day: ‘Born to be Wild’ - Steppenwolf.

            Some Saturday afternoons we like to cycle over to the Firs Farm Wetlands. It’s a pleasant jaunt, not too far for little legs (and no Susie, I’m not referring to myself here!), and the Wetlands are usually a bit quieter than our nearest park. These short trips usually follow a fairly familiar pattern. We cycle over, and then as soon as we reach the ponds and wide field at the far end of the park, the boys want to stop and runaround-playcricket-climbtrees-catchingpractice-explore-runningraces-repeat.

            This Saturday afternoon we cycled over to those wetlands. However, this trip didn’t follow the fairly familiar pattern. We reached the runaround-playcricket-climbtrees-catchingpractice-explore-runningraces-repeat spot, but instead of stopping, the boys announced that they wanted to keep on cycling. We completed a circuit and returned to the runar… you know the rest; anyway we reached the spot, and again they insisted that they wanted to cycle another lap. Again around we went, and over again.

I was enjoying the ride, I was very much enjoying the ride, but a bit of me was also trying to figure out what was going on with the boys, and why they were uncharacteristically indifferent to stopping and playing.

            It was on maybe the fourth circuit that a penny dropped. Suddenly there were no other cyclists, joggers, dog-walkers or families ahead of us, and at once James accelerated away down that stretched empty path, with wide green on either side. He pedalled faster and faster, and even as I cycled behind him, not able to see his face, I could feel joy like a wave crashing out of him.

            When we were able to talk I asked him what he was enjoying so much about cycling today. ‘The wind in my face’, he answered.

         I think of long walks with my Mum, whose ashes I should have taken home to Scotland this week. I think of her mother, my Gran, who used to love to go to the coast and looking out to sea with the wind in her face, would sigh, ‘It fair blows the cobwebs away.’

            We’re so lucky as a family, the boys are so lucky. We have so much space, we have a garden. But today I saw that even young children realise that space is not freedom, and even at so young an age, the desire for real freedom pulls hard on their hearts.

            In the story of Pentecost, God’s Spirit is experienced as a rushing wind.

            What is it about wind on our face that breathes into our hearts freedom and life?