And, as I am sometimes wont to doing (***wont is a fantastic word, not used nearly enough in writing or speaking), I am reflecting on the idea that they are in an American Airlines jet—probably a 767, maybe a 747—far away from me, and really far away from anyone who loves them the way my soul loves them.
I’m not worried about them. O, sure I am prayful about many things regarding their journey—that they will make their connections, that Mark won’t have a nosebleed, that they’ll not forget one of their backpacks some place, that they will enjoy themselves and arrive safely. But I’m not worried. We’ve flown enough, and they have flown by themselves enough, that I have full confidence in my smalls and in American Airlines to get them to Kona safely.
But their departure, along with the concurrent anniversary dates of my ex-husband’s arrest, have me reevaluating, well–just about everything. And while I know that too much introspection can lead to negative things such as arrogance, self-centeredness and, to be truthful, insanity; I also know that this is what I do. I think. I think and I think and I think.
If I can completely trust two of my most precious things in my life–my smalls–to a metal tube hurtling at 567 mph at 35,000 feet, then why do I find it so hard, so challenging, so mind-boggling to trust my God who created the minds that created the technology that is allowing my smalls to fly to Hawaii today?
Have you ever been in turbulance? I mean real turbulance, where the passengers are gasping and nervously chuckling and looking at each other and at the flight attendants for some reassurance? I have, a few times. One time was during a storm, when the lightening seemed to engulf the entire plane. Up and Down, Side to Side, the frame shudders and creaks and groans. It was amazing. I loved every minute of it–seriously. I love turbulance, I’m an odd duck.
The funny thing about turbulance is that you can’t “see” the air pockets that are causing the gully’s, but you can feel their effects.
I can’t see my God. I often can’t sense my God. I lie awake at night asking him to give me a sense–an awareness of His presence. And oftentimes–I don’t understand why–that “prayer” is answered with silence. And I then find myself in the familiar struggle of doubt. The familiar struggle of unbelief.
But though I can’t see my God, I see His effects, just like I feel the effects of turbulance. They sky. An uninterrupted night of sleep. A friend who encourages me by saying my house seemed peaceful, when all could be chaos.
I miss my smalls tonight. And, ok, I’ll admit, I’m a bit worried about them and will feel more at ease and able to sleep once I get the phone call at 2 AM that they have arrived safely.
And while I trust the plane, I must work on trusting my God. Not an easy task. I’m reminded of the verse in Acts 17:
27 that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us,
He is not actually far from each one of us….but I must seek Him, I must feel my way toward Him. I must do the work–the scripture work, the prayer work, the soul work that it takes to urge, push, shove, demand that my soul trust Him. I am encouraged that my friend recognized peace in this house, because I work at it–I work hard at it.
May I work as hard at seeking God so as to sense His peace in my oft-troubled soul and mind.
