Suspended in the Sky

The wheels turn roughly on the gravelly runway. The engine roars with life as the immense plane gains momentum. Outside my tiny rectangular view of the world, buildings and trees zoom past. We are still safe on the ground, but not for long.

Adrenaline builds inside me, while the world outside the window blurs. Around me people are quiet, patient, and a little tense. The chatty ones talk on, oblivious of the unwritten rule – minimize talking during takeoff.

Then that ineffable moment, unimagined for thousands of years – the wheels leave the ground, the rattling becomes smooth, and the ground drops away beneath the plane. Sunshine breaks through the rows of windows. We’re floating in bright blue sky.

If only this was a moment I could enjoy. But instead of relishing the miracle of flight, I am afraid. I grip my armrest, listen anxiously to the engines, analyze every jolt.

Some moments are comforting. The pilot’s voice, scratchy over the intercom, announces that we are free to take our seatbelts off. The flight attendants begin the drink service. Everything is business as usual.

Some moments are beautiful. Passing through a few wispy clouds, we sail in a blue, sunlit ocean. Trapped in a huge metal tube in the sky, there is still a freeing feeling about being so far away from everything earthbound.

In spite of the transcendence, the business of flight is surprisingly mundane. The flight attendant waits for my drink selection, and I order ginger ale. Trips to the bathroom begin – children trotting back and forth, senior citizens ambling slowly down the aisle. A baby cries, a businessman taps away on his laptop, and the women behind me can’t stop laughing at a story one of them told.

Yes, flying can be comforting, beautiful, and even mundane… but I’m still fearful. Hovering thousands of feet above the ground, I feel suspended between life and death. Stories I’ve heard about plane crashes flood my mind. When the engine cycles to a quieter hum, I imagine it’s dying, and we will plummet to the ground. I breathe prayer - for safety, yes, but even more, for freedom from anxiety.

After seemingly endless minutes, the seatbelt light “dings” back on. I buckle myself in with a sigh of relief. I love landing. I know it’s more dangerous than the flight itself, but to me it signals the end of fear. We are almost back on solid ground!

My ears “pop” as the plane descends little by little and slows its speed. The flight attendants walk up and down the aisle, balancing their hands on the seats, checking for the “upright and locked position,” collecting leftover napkins and soda cans.

I stare out the window as the ground gets closer. The clouds are above us again. Tiny cars creep along snaky highways. As we near the runway, trees and buildings rush past, almost at eye level.

Then, the magical moment – with a jolt, the wheels reconnect with the ground. The plane bounces and air rushes through the vents as we whirl down the runway to a gradual stop. My heart’s pounding slows, and excitement floods me. We made it safely! “Thank You, Lord,” I pray inwardly.

Bustling again with life on the ground, the plane buzzes with talk and the snap-snap of overhead compartments being opened. I wait with unruffled patience to disembark, happy to feel safe again.

Someday, maybe I will fly without fear. But for now, perhaps flying is a little like a spiritual discipline for me. It is hard. It feels unnatural. Yet it is a channel to draw me closer to the Lord. I have to rely on Him and Him alone – not feelings of comfort and safety, not forgetfulness that I will someday die. Flying shows me just how vaporous my life is. So in that way, it is a gift for which I can be thankful.

My next day to fly? May 8, 2010.

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