We hurtled along the runway at nearing 300 miles an hour, with a roaring and rumbling which is typical of nearly 300 tonnes of metal, passengers and baggage trying to defeat gravity in a desperate attempt to lift itself from the ground. There was a bump, and my stomach tried to leave its normal location, as the nose lifted, the rumbling became quieter and the Boeing 777 clawed its way into the sky. I knew it was clawing its way because the engines took on a howl as they worked hard to lift 300 of us eventually towards Japan. There was a whine and a thump as the wheels locked home, the engines eventually became a comfortable hiss and we were on our way.
An hour or two earlier I had handed a good number of my possessions to a lady who promptly allowed them to disappear into a mysterious cavern along with another 3000 bags. Possibly more considering the vast numbers of cases of the family in front of me at the bag drop.
Before that I had been happy to give up a cold windy station in North Yorkshire for a 140 mile an hour train, driven by – well I don’t actually know the name of the driver. Come to that I don’t know the lady who kindly took my bags, and even though the captain of flight 005 did tell me his name, and that of his co-pilot I was more engaged with the menu for the flight meals at the time. (sorry captain)
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
I look out of the window, from 35,000 feet and I have no idea who stuck the wings on this plane. In fact I have no idea about any of the people who have been involved in my journey. But I am trusting each and every one of them.
The driver of the train to be alert to the track, the lady at the drop off that she labelled my baggage correctly, the pilots and crew of the plane, and those who built it, who knows where and when.
I have no doubts that the wheels will come down and lock into place when we need them, that the pilot will land us accurately and safely, that the engines will howl once again to aid the slowing of the plane. I trust them all.
How easily I trust. But does this level of trust really translate into trusting God as much?
I don’t think twice about trusting my life in the hands of the airplane pilots, but I make such a fuss when I am trusting God; Can I? Can’t I? is He listening? Has He seen the difficulty I am in? Will he answer my prayer?
I just jump on the train, thankful it has arrived, but I dither and doubt Gods will for me when His opportunities come along.
I simply hand over personal stuff to check in staff, but I weave complex and deep prayers over the smallest detail when I need to make a decision about my giving.
If I can so easily trust those who “stuck” the wings on this plane, shouldn’t I be able to trust even more a God who promises to look after his people with care compassion and perfect love?