We were at 10,000 feet and heading East when the Pilot made the announcement. The number was no surprise; we knew that was cruising altitude. But he urged us to fasten our seat belts and keep them buckled; the ride was going to get rough and stay rough most of the remaining 40 minutes of the flight. Despite the fact we’d cleared the mountains, it was actually the other side of the Front Rage that posed more turbulent conditions.
Anyone who gets on a plane knows rough air is likely. Comfort comes in knowing the Pilot has the controls. That confidence made it possible to finish chapter 7 of my book while bouncing around; only crooked lines of highlighting remind me now of the stressful leg of our journey. With the Pilot in His place and my seat belt tight, I felt safe.
But not the man across the aisle in 17B. When we boarded, I noticed his paperback book as thick as the phone books I once sat on for Thanksgiving. I expected he would flip a few pages and end up drooling before the beverage cart rolled by. I was wrong. In efforts to control his agitation, he fiddled with a few of the thousand pages before he wrestled a behemoth turkey sandwich into his mouth with the same effort a mom uses to force a toddler into a car seat. A bag of Cheese Nips followed, punctuated by raucous digging into and rolling up of a brown grocery bag filled with assorted snacks and distractions. He shopped for more distractions from the snack cart. Before spilling his tin of mints all over himself, his neighbor and the floor under aisle 17, he ordered a juice and a collection of small glass bottles of alcohol, combining them all with a scoop of ice in a tumbler he produced from his noisy paper bag. Not surprisingly, he shook the concoction loudly in bartender style. In between trips to the bathroom, he played a game on one of his two phones, stopping to grip the arm rests when the Pilot officially labeled the ride “turbulent.”
The man in 17B had no peace. Like a lot of us, inner turbulence drove him to disappointing vices. Gaming, eating, shopping, drinking, busyness. Nothing worked, until the flight landed and the people in the first 16 aisles deplaned too slowly for his bitter taste. He spoke more loudly than he rattled his brown bag. “ Oh, come on, you can either be polite or efficient. Let’s go for efficient!” spewing words at the tired elderly woman in row 16.
When turbulence rules our spirit, it overflows into sharp words and self-centered thinking, not to mention bad manners (NOWHERE in that brown bag was there a napkin!).
Over on the other side of row 17, I was feeling some turbulence of my own. Our family has cleared the Front Range of change this year, but it’s not smooth flying yet. God’s unchanging truth holds us in and keeps us steady when air currents are unsettling. I’m grateful for the voice of our Pilot, letting us know He is at the controls, knows the plans He has for us, knows the course is a good one, and He will bring us safely to the destination He has marked out.
Are you experiencing turbulence, friends?
- Relationally?
- Financially?
- Physically?
- Spiritually?
Let’s listen to the Pilot and keep our seat belts fastened. Which side of the aisle do you want to be on?
