Turbulence

this is what it means to have faith

I slide into my seat, one of the middle seats in the back row. The man to my right, squirrely but not nervous, eyes me as I fiddle with the seatbelt over and over, until I finally click it into place. I immediately drop my phone and fish it from under the seat in front of me.

Okay.

I take a deep breath.

One thing done.

I text my parents to let them know that the plane is soon to depart. I wait for their responses, before pressing the little airplane icon in the upper righthand corner. Will this be the last time I text them? I shove the idea out my head as soon as it enters.

I pay close attention to the flight attendants performing their safety demonstration, as if I were sitting in a classroom, learning something destined to be on the test.

I quickly skim through the safety card in the seat pocket in front of me. Then, I locate the safety vest under me just in case. Would I swim well enough if the plane emergency-lands in water? This thought’s a little stickier than the first, but it eventually lets me go.

As the plane races down the runway and ascends into the clouds, I have hope that the plane will land safely, but I don’t know that it will for certain.

Everything is fine at first. I listen to music, play a game on my phone, think about what I’ll have for lunch, but then then the plane shakes. It jerks left and right, up and down, and the seatbelt sign lights up overhead. Uh oh. Turbulence.

I grip my seat handle, as if this action will somehow steady the plane. I shut my eyes so hard that they sting a little.

I pray and pray some more, and as I pray, I have hope that the plane will land safely, but I don’t know that it will for certain.

The turbulence doesn’t let up for a long time.

Something I learned about turbulence prior to boarding is that turbulence feels dangerous, but it isn’t. It’s part of what it means to fly. Discomfort isn’t evidence of demise.

The turbulence lasts for the majority of the flight.

When the plane settles, I gaze out my window at the puffy white clouds, and I imagine God holding the plane like a child with a paper one.

We descend slowly, before plunging into the airport and rolling down the runway of my new destination.

“Welcome to Orlando.”

I didn’t have certainty it would land safely, but I believed it would. Even through the discomfort, I had hope that it would all be okay.

This is what it means to have faith.