The Co-Pilot

One of the first memories of my life is flying with my Dad. I can picture me in the backseat next to my brother in his infant carrier. Dad was the pilot. I was a little scared. That was the last time I ever remember being scared with my Dad at the stick. I never acquired my own desire to fly, but any chance I ever got, I jumped at the chance to be in the air with Dad. We've gone from little jaunts around town to (while I was pregnant!) half-way across the country together. I knew Dad was a smart, level-headed guy and I always just trusted that we would be ok. There's something surreal about looking down on what seems to be so much bigger than you when you're on the ground -- especially from a small plane that rarely goes hiding in the clouds. Bothered about something? Anxious for how it's all going to turn out? Just go up for a short spin in the blue and see a little bit from God's perspective. I'm always humbled that He even cares for the little "ants" that we are from way up there, but I don't see us as being insignificant in His eyes. I see Him as being able. There's peace up there.

I loved that Josh got the chance to fly with his Grandpa this time. It was poignant to sit in that backseat again, this time to watch my Dad and my son. I listened to the same instructions I used to get on altimeters and ailerons, pitch, roll and yawl. Dad let him "take the wheel" and was ever so patient with Josh getting the hang of keeping us on course. At the hand of an 8-year-old, it got a little bumpy at times but I just laughed. Dad was in control! Kinda like God always is....

 

 

 

 

Maybe someday Josh will get the fever for flying. That will be ok with me.