I’m sitting on a plane as i write this, staring out the window into the black abyss. It’s 7:46 pm somewhere between Lima and Trujillo, Peru and I can’t see a darn thing.
13A- that’s my assigned seat. Lucky enough, I was the lucky winner of the emergency exit row. I find myself leaning into my less than cozy chair (with plenty of leg room, PRAISES!!) staring straight ahead at the pocket on the seat head in front of me with the pamphlet tucked inside entitled, “Asientos en Salida de Emergencia” or “Emergency Exit Seats”.
I can’t even count on my fingers and toes how many planes I’ve been on, and yet today i find myself contemplating in this moment how I’ve heard the safety precautions countless times, yet if it ever came down to it, I’d have not a darn clue what to do on this little row in the event of an emergency…
I decide that thought is too dark and scary to think any further, so I wiggle my head a few times and blink my eyes in efforts to shake the thought before turning my head and staring out the window again.
Again. DARKNESS.
A scary thought, really. I’m in an aircraft that is SOMEHOW suspended in midair going over 300 miles an hour. In the pitch black. I wonder what’s going through the pilots mind right now?
I think about the job description he signed up for:
-speak over the intercom several times per flight
-push a bunch of ambiguous buttons that make cool sounds
-*seat belt on/off signal*
-a lot of ACTUALLY important descriptions like learning aerodynamics and all the “sciency” things that fly right over my head (see what i did there?? FLY.. pun?? Woo, I’m funny…)
-and lastly, lead hundreds, maybe thousands, of people each day through the darkness of night flights and red eyes for hours on end.
I’m not confident that was in the description when he agreed to this job, but I’m sure it was on his radar seeing that he had to have thousands of hours of practice beforehand.
It may not be specifically in his job description, but it’s in Jesus’. It’s always been, and always will be.
The darkness really does seem like too much. And i think back to an emergency. If something were to happen here on this plane in the darkness, would I be able to take my plunge out the tiny doors onto the inflatable wings with (or without) assurance of what lies below?
Heck, it’s a lot like faith. A lot of times it’s blind, and it’s scary, and you can’t see what lies ahead.
But just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there, serving it’s purpose, doing it’s job.
Just because you can’t always *feel* or *see* Jesus working in the midst of your life doesn’t mean He isn’t present. It just means you’ve got to trust, savor, and remind yourself a little more of the lessons and the truths that you’ve learned on the mountain top while you’re being tempted and tried in the valley and the pit. Those lessons solidify and become your own in those taxing moments.
Just because the pilot can’t physically see where he’s flying the plane doesn’t mean that he isn’t getting anywhere.
And just because you can’t physically feel Jesus’ hand at work in certain moments, doesn’t mean He isn’t working all things according to His will. It will never change or negate the fact that He put His body on a cross and defeated death to give YOU life. To give ME life. Don’t lose sight of what is and what will always be TRUTH.
Your life matters. Your journey matters. And it’s hand crafted and unique to fit you and only you. So if it feels like everyone else has their life figured out and you’re the only one struggling 1) they’re lying and hiding their anxieties/insecurities and 2) you probably need to stop scrolling through the perfect world of Instagram, haha!
There’s no instruction manual to your life. There’s an awesome Guidebook that gives you peace, and wisdom and all the good things, but the only assurance you’re going to get is that if you receive Christ as Lord, you’re assured eternity in heaven. Disclaimer: I’m not downplaying this decision whatsoever. This will always be the biggest yes you will ever say in your life, but what I’m getting at is everything else is a journey. It’s a little bit of a blind walk with an awesome Caretaker.
Sometimes we’ve got to stop looking for such solid answers and start enjoying the journey. Take the leap with assurance of what lies below, even if you can’t physically see it.
