When I first started to fly, I didn’t think of it as anything more than a mode of transportation. Until I flew to Texas on April 19, 1995. The morning of the Oklahoma City bombing. We were already en route by the time this occurred so I was oblivious to what was happening on the ground. As we approached Dallas-Fort Worth airport and prepared for our descent, I was ready to land. I was travelling with my mother and my three boys. The youngest of whom was on my lap because the plane was so crowded.
We were tired, the boys were cranky and we were so grateful when the plane was just about to touch down. It was at that moment that we suddenly took off again. We were confused and scared because we didn’t know what was going on. Then we heard sketchy reports about a bomb. Many of the passengers, along with myself, concluded that the bomb was on our plane and we were diverted from landing so we could explode in the sky and not on the ground.
With the exception of the return flight home, that was the last time I ever stepped foot inside an airplane.
Last Thursday, during Bible study, two women, about 20 years older than me, were engaged in conversation about meeting Jesus. Stating that they were much closer than the rest in the room, but they were ready. And I thought to myself, we are all close.
Whether I live 20, 40 or 80 years, my time on earth is no more than a blip on the screen. And unfortunately I have been to too many funerals recently for people my age and younger. I have no guarantee that I will live to a ripe old age. But I do know this. God’s love is great. He has made that abundantly clear. And while that still doesn’t give me any guarantees about my future, I trust that He wants me to get on with the business of living.
I am no longer willing to let this phobia keep me grounded. I have dreams of seeing the world. And as soon as I finalize my itinerary, I am giving my fears to God in exchange for an airline ticket.