The Mentor

The man lifts the boy. He’s been there himself.

Conditioned and trained in the rigors of the Upper Room, he has risen by reason of promotion to the place where his calling is clear and the yoke that fits well is placed on his shoulders – sinewy and well fed, conditioned to lift weight.

The boy is growing to a man, filling out to fit the heights. He’s blasting into a new level and coming to the clearer glare of the honest sun. He is duly noticed by those in his sphere with the roar of flame that heralds his take-off. He seems the star, the bearer of new truth – that is as old as antiquity but always requiring a new package.

But deep down he knows that he was lifted with the aid of a living launch tower, Supplying the motive power and fibre to make the journey ahead. Counseled by one left in the shadows – without whom he would still be wandering and wondering.

For the mentor is under instruction not to fly; not to soar in a shower; not to be known except by the man who was a boy and the Father to whom all are children.

His form though huge is largely hidden. Even the enemy has trouble. He hears with satisfaction the roaring of a new flight sent its way to fire light into darkness and arrest the naïve. His joy is to watch him grow in strength and wisdom. His work is the miracles appointed to him. To most he is largely forgotten and hardly noticed, as his path leads to another nobody destined for greatness.

But in the mind of a wise pilot the memory holds deep and will never diminish of a time and a mentor who recognized the man in the boy and blew on the fire within.