From the Desk of Guest Writer Ms. Sarah Peters

Thoughts While in Transit. I am on a flight to Washington D.C. sitting in row 008 F. I have learned two important things so far today. The first is that United Airways completely trumps Delta because the flight attendant just gave me the most heavenly styrofoam cup of coffee I could ever have ever imagined to be brewed 35,000 feet in the air. The second lesson of the day is that I consistently see God most vividly in the most peculiar places. I don’t mean “peculiar” as in burnt toast or tree bark or a wild sculpture of mashed potatoes… It seems I hear Him most clearly when I am traveling and on airplanes; times when I am physically moving forward.

I love to travel. It seems that in the chaos and rush of moving, I find quiet moments where God speaks to me, and I hear Him louder than ever – almost as if there is clearer annunciation in a crowded Moscow street than in an empty cathedral. Even in familiar places, it happens. I remember running down to the beach at night in Destin, and the moments I felt fully aware of Him were loud ones. It wasn’t the quiet jog along the street; it was sitting atop dunes amidst construction workers’ beer bottles and listening to the bar music, with neon lights dancing across the water towards me. Those moment are as though He is saying, “I am greater and of a sweeter sound than all of this.” I just love that.

Anyway – back to the airplane. I ended up with a beautiful view in a window seat in a row of three seats all to myself. : ) That never happens. While I was getting all snuggled up with my blanket and my book, I looked out the window. Instead of the spidery lakes and roads I had expected, I saw the brightest white. The clouds had completely enveloped the plane, and there was a complete absence of anything else. That is when we started experiencing a significant amount of turbulence – which is never comforting. As I sat there staring out into that deep white nothing, I let my mind run away (which we all do from time to time in those seconds of straying sanity). Hiccups of fear came over me. I began reasoning with that false god we conjure up in our minds. The god that we are afraid is real, but we know is only our own self lashing out. This god says things like “I am angry with you because you forgot to read your Bible last night” and “Wouldn’t it be just fine to die right now and not even ask me to keep this plane flying because you know I am really irked that you always forget to read your Bible?” We all know this voice of that god who is not God at all. I kept imagining scenes of a plane going down, my parents hearing the news, and what would my family would decide to make of all my useless treasures….old cameras without lenses, painted guitars, an out-of-tune piano currently living in our garage, and boxes upon boxes of letters that I have saved since elementary school. I am quite the pack rat; ask my aunt (she thinks it is quite awful). Anyhow, I paused from imagining my pathetic Lifetime-esque cinematic death to remember that these thoughts are useless, silly, and avail nothing. And then, looking out that tiny window I remembered and smiled. He holds me in His hands.

So many times in life, we board the plane of opportunity, of plans, of expectations, and we wrap our faith up in these hopes and dreams we are so sure God has given us – to the point that our faith becomes so dependent upon whether or not our dreams are fulfilled. More often than not, He has given us those dreams. He places passions in our hearts so that we can fulfill them with Him. This is why many of our dreams seem impossible or are so difficult. If it didn’t seem impossible, and if we thought we could do it on our own, then what are learning? How are we making memories with Him? And, most importantly, how could His glory be shown in our lives?

Back to where we were – the plane of plans. We feel entitled to look out our window the whole journey. After all, we have paid our ticket, taken our seat, and want to have a bird’s eye view of everything going on. However, plane rides and life are just not this way. On the descent, I looked out the window and could see nothing – nothing but white and it was not a smooth ride; it was an awful feeling like the plane could drop and suddenly my stomach would feel like it does every time I ride the 300-foot Sky Coaster in Orlando. But it is those times of life, when we expected to see all the little details yet do not, that we must trust Him and be patient. We must have faith that His promises are true no matter what we see out our window or feel in our bones. His Word is the only thing that matters. Then, soon, we look out the window to see the little clouds below us with the perfect clarity of an Ansel Adams photograph. The white is gone, and the big picture is before us: The wandering roads of towns below, the brilliant blue lakes, the bright lights of a city waiting for our arrival and for adventure to continue with Him.