The Day I Died, Compliments of Delta


  I used to say that the only condition in which I would ever consider getting on a plane is if it were a life or death situation. On the final day of February 2012, that prediction became a reality. As I found myself soaring at unfathomable heights toward a foreign land, I realized that the one who was dying was me. That realization didn’t sink in it all at once though, it came in waves and rolls and sudden turmoil, much like the journey I was about to begin.

There I sat, window seat, on my first flight ever with my husband and our daughter, who had both flown before. What had started in the very early morning hours as an exciting adventure, albeit a little nerve-wracking with the whole security and boarding procedure was now taking a turn for, “What were you thinking, Deanna?” The excitement was giving way to reality and I was very aware that there was no turning back now. I don’t care what anyone else on that plane says, my first flight was not a most welcoming one. For one thing, the inside of an airplane is so much smaller than what they portray on T.V. Why I wouldn’t have guessed that, or why my husband wouldn’t have warned me, I don’t know. But for someone who is claustrophobic and experiencing this whole flying thing for the first time, it wasn’t at all what I was hoping for. However, Tim was very understanding (and probably feeling a little guilty for not adequately preparing me) and talked me through everything that was happening:  from the clunking of the landing wheels to the rush of air being sucked out of my lungs at take-off and even into the first little waves of turbulence. And had that been the extent of my first experience on an airplane, I would have considered it a successful one. Instead, it was right after several more jolts of turbulence had rocked the aircraft when the captain’s voice came on over the intercom; he apologizes in advance for the flight ahead and then, much to my already borderline panic, asks the flight attendants to also take their seats and for everyone to secure their seat belts. No one, it seems, including Tim and Emily are remotely affected by this, which tends to irritate me just a little bit more. This unexpected development did nothing productive for me and a warm reassurance did not come over me at this point - or at any point thereafter. Nor did it help to be told repeatedly, “it’s just like hitting pot holes on a road.” Okay, I get the analogy and while I appreciate your effort, I can survive pot holes! And as an added bonus they don’t flood my stomach with nausea and fear. I was sure that this stretch of lofty and looming skies was endowed with more 'pot holes' than a California highway after an earthquake. So for the next hour and a half I did a little hyperventilating and fake smiling, and whole lot of embedding my nails into my palms and intense private praying. I was truly never more glad to see land than when we began to descend into Atlanta. I didn't even care if it was a rough landing at this point, just as long as we landed at all.  I had no idea how I was going to get on our second flight without being knocked out first.

After joining the rest of our mission team in the terminal, I was pleased to hear at least one other person say, “That was a rough ride wasn’t it?” The fact that she was a business woman and seasoned traveler completely validated my feelings,  “YES, YES in fact it was!” I was screaming on the inside. But instead I heard my voice squeak a meager, “Oh, well it wasn't as smooth as I had expected .”  Only God and I knew at this point what an obstacle this gripping fear still was for me; I felt my sense of adventure begin to fade while we waited for our second and longer flight from Atlanta to San Pedro, Honduras.

At least for that second flight I was a little more prepared for the confined area I was entering and more accustomed to the sights and sounds around me. Not wanting to be made fun of or left in the city-sized, Atlanta airport by myself was also a big incentive for not protesting the next flight. More importantly, even if my heart faltered I knew that I was following God’s lead. With only His strength to carry me, I was somehow able to walk onto the next plane. 

It had taken four long years, trusting God with all financial and health obstacles that remained, and the demise of my pride,to bring me to this point. I knew I was meant to be on this trip and that God’s hand had orchestrated it. That comforting thought led to another and before long I was remembering my proclamation  about only getting on an airplane in the event of someone’s death. While we glided effortlessly through the clouds on this leg of the journey, the realization dawned that with every mile behind me and every step before me, I was the one who was dying; leaving behind my old worn-with-worry self and welcoming a new, trusting and eager version who God intended from the start.

For many years I had enjoyed living a blessed life, a comfortable and safe one where I was in control of the everyday events. But I wasn’t really living. Slowly I had drifted toward a life of stagnant complacency and eventual discontent. Have you been there? Not everything, but some of what I had been living for became less satisfying and more constricting. I was suffocating in the life I created for myself and I needed an outlet. Out of all that I had taken for granted, out of my safety net and into something more satisfying and meaningful. For the present moment, that ‘something more’ included venturing into an airplane bound for a distant and unknown land. Why? Because God was asking me to and the box I had been keeping Him no longer satisfied my spiritual hunger. It was never meant to. My comfort zone wasn't so comfortable anymore.

  

I could have lived a lifetime joyfully raising my kids, teaching Bible classes, studying and gaining more knowledge, but not until I exchanged my life of self-preservation for one of surrendered faith would I ever really experience the Christian life.

The one fear greater than giving up control, was the same fear that proprelled me forward now – the fear of living outside of God’s will and never knowing all He had waiting for me to discover.

I was so tired of sitting at life's departure gate waiting for my “purpose” to land at my feet. God answered with “Your purpose is to trust me and follow me out of your comfort zone and just see what I have waiting…”

And so I did, I followed Him and found myself in the one place I said I would never go - on an airplane. And that's the very place He needed me to be willing to go. If that meant dying in a plane crash than at least it was on my way to fulfill His plan and I was at peace with that. Because honestly, it doesn't matter what our own personal wants or fears are, the safest place will always be in the midst of God's will and not our own. I had a feeling though that there was to be more to this trip than dying to myself at hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.

Thankfully, I was right and the flight to Honduras was much smoother and void of any drama. I still wasn't any more fond of flying than when this day began but I was a different person upon arrival than who I was when we departed that morning. Somewhere in the beautiful blue above, I had died to self and all it's lies and was now living with a peace I couldn't explain, a joy I couldn't contain and a hope I had never known.  

As my feet touched the warm foreign soil of Honduras, I knew that the adventure of my faith resurrection was about to begin.

" Then Jesus told his disciples, 'If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."  ~ Matthew 16:24-25

Ready to Soar...

Ready to Soar
...continued from the previous blog, "The Perfect Storm."

 God was up to something.

I don't think either Tim or I would have believed what that "something" was even if He had chosen to tell us face to face. Nonetheless, we were about to begin a journey that would reveal glimpses of what might lie beyond the horizon.

                                                                    
 The main reason why I wanted to support my husband’s trip to Honduras was because I realized how much it meant to him. To fully understand why you’d have to know the type of man he is. Tim has been described by most people as quiet, reserved and hard-working, and while that might be accurate, that is only what is seen on the surface.

I would more accurately describe him as faithful, sure and selfless. He is the most selfless person I have ever met. While he would give and do anything for those he loves, he never asks for anything in return. Ever. I have exhausted every possible gift idea imaginable and created several elaborate attempts to celebrate his birthdays, our anniversary, and Christmas, all to no avail. Finally, I resigned my gift-giving heart to the fact that my man isn’t impressed by tangible presents or contrived notions. He simply isn’t driven by “stuff,” he is driven by compassion and necessity. He’s devoted to things that matter and that’s all he asks in return.

And that is what I wanted to give to back to him – an opportunity to share that compassion and deeply rooted faith in a ministry that would meet significant practical and spiritual needs.


It was through this “perfect gift” that my Father of Wonders would teach me to soar.


So, with a trembling heart and a weak smile, I faced the storm head on and sent my husband off to another country ~ and I am so glad I did! Not only did Tim thrive on the mission trip but I survived my 10 day mini-storm of him being away. Each new day that God was supplying me with His peace and provision, He was supplying Tim with clarity. While I was learning to stretch my wings and look beyond the nest, Tim was finally able to fly beyond the limitations offered in everyday life. We were getting a little stronger, enjoying a better view. While I was grateful that we had both experienced deeper levels of faith and confidence, I was anxious for him to get home where we could start growing and sharing together. He had experienced something amazing and I was grateful, but much to my surprise, I was a little envious as well. I had wanted to share something this amazing together. Even so I was looking forward to seeing what more we could discover within the same flight pattern, and I wasn’t disappointed.


Six weeks after he returned home, Tim went back to work, having been laid-off throughout the winter. Normally, I dread this annual transition with loss and panic, our lives abruptly change since his work days can be 14-16 hours leaving very little time for family. But the peace I gained while he was on his trip stayed with me and for the first time in several years, the transition was not as emotionally trying. Meanwhile, Tim’s faith had been re-ignited in a way that gave him confidence to initiate a men’s bible study. My “quiet and reserved” husband got excited (literally and emotionally!) about creating lessons and sharing them with other guys. The glory on the other side was truly worth it.


We were making the most of the time we had with renewed enthusiasm and anticipation of what God had in store.  I thought we were doing well, riding on the currents of peace and confidence. It was wonderful, I had prayed for this for such a long time so the new territory that we were exploring together felt pretty good. But the months were passing by and I sensed what was coming.


The days that followed Tim's return from Honduras, I knew that I could forget any notion of him “getting missions work out of his system.” On the contrary, it only breathed life into a longing in his heart that had been lying dormant for many years. So, when he approached the idea of going back the next year, I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t thrilled either, but I wasn’t surprised and it wasn’t quite so difficult to give him my blessing. Who was I to clip his wings and get in the way of God’s plan?  I felt proud of myself for having coming so far.


And yet, it wouldn’t be long before I was on the verge of upsetting the whole nest for a second time. I was about to hit some serious turbulence in my new found atmosphere.


Within a few short weeks of Tim’s decision to make his second trip, we were made known of an opportunity by a very dear friend of ours. Over the years I had come to highly respect and love this man as a brother, he simply lives what he believes. I felt blessed by his genuine friendship; it came complete with honesty, understanding and frequent bouts of humor. So when he presented us with the possibility to take another member of our family on the mission trip, I almost laughed. Seriously, he knew me and my limitations better than that! Tim was more than welcome to take on the joys of the jungle but I was still working on being more faithful than fearful in homegrown areas of my life. 

And that’s when I heard him say, “Not you Deanna, I was talking about Scott.”


I don’t know what emotion filtered through my brain, body and veins first but I do know that it wasn’t close to anything good. My wings started to falter and the ground was rushing up to meet me where I had screeched to a mid-air halt. I was instantly overwhelmed with a fear that loomed larger than any that had been  present when Tim went on this same trip last year. My newly created comfort space had been invaded again and I was scared, but mostly I was angry. I was angry at myself for reverting to my fear mode, angry at the two men who seemed perfectly fine with this grand idea, and I wasn’t very happy with God at the moment either. The One who had brought me out here in this open air space and Who now wanted me to send my first-born even further than I was willing to go myself?


And so, I'm not proud of this at all, but I began to argue with God, “Are you kidding me? Really God, wasn’t last time enough, didn’t I obey You and earn my “wings” already? This is Scott’s senior year, I’m already an emotional wreck at having to watch him go off to college in less than a year and now You want me to let him go somewhere dangerous too? You know he isn’t quite like his father, Scott’s curious, impulsive and a bit reckless. Yes, I know where he gets it from, but that’s not the point! You’re going to give him an experience of a life-time without me? What are you going to suggest next, that I let Emily go too?” (I would later find out that some questions are better left unspoken unless you’re ready for the answer.)


While I’m having my private mental melt-down my husband is obviously over-joyed at the thought of Scott joining him on the trip and my mentor friend appears to be pretty pleased as well. Both of whom are now looking at me for a response? Both of them knowing me well enough to fully understand that my heart is breaking and my thoughts are silently screaming. 


“I’m a mom, don’t you guys get it? Don’t you know what you’re asking of me?” All I wanted at that moment was to get out of that room, go protect my nest and start clipping wings. If you are wondering if I realized how selfish I was acting, the answer would be yes. But I also realized something else, the turbulence that was threatening my faith wasn’t only fed by fear, it was joined by a surprising new surging gale called envy. This time I wasn’t only being left behind, I was being left out of having the chance to soar higher. That realization startled me even more.


Honestly, I have no idea what happened or what was said next. If I were to guess, I’d say that Tim got a clue that I was not “feeling the enthusiasm” and suggested that we think about it and get back to him. What I do remember is that it would be less than two weeks and a lot of tears and prayers later before I was warily giving my consent and pushing my “baby” bird out of the nest.


The false security of control that I had allowed to hold me back had also tied down my family and their potential. I knew that part of riding the currents of God’s plan meant that sacrifices of control needed to be made to get there. I had seen my husband soar after his first trip, there had been no denying it, so why would I not want the same for my son even if it meant he would be taking this flight without me?


Because Scott had felt a nudge toward music ministry about four months prior, I suspected the trip was an experience that God was providing a greater benefit that I couldn't see. While I was excited about Scott's calling, it took me a little longer to get excited about the trip. Several weeks later, as I was pulling suitcases out of the closet, I started to feel that twinge of envy again and since I was on more amiable speaking terms with Him now, I suspiciously asked, “God what are you up to?”


His answer came quietly and sure, speaking to my heart. I had been coasting on the tailwinds of last year’s experience but it was no longer satisfying. Because I had released my control for His plan, was I ready to fly farther and go higher if He asked me to? If He turned my twinge of envy into a future possibility would I take it? The question was did I trust Him?


Did I trust Him to conquer these deeper fears that now involved my son? Did I trust Him to do again what He had done before and grant me peace and strength as I faced this new challenge? Did I trust Him to provide brighter skies and new opportunities upon their return? And the biggest question of all “Was I going to trust Him if those new opportunities led me to farther, more lofty skies than I had ever intended to risk?”  Fear was losing its grip, faith was gaining momentum and a new and glorious wind started to blow.


Scott did go on the trip with his dad, and they had an experience of a life-time. Scott’s faith was increased by all he experienced, and Tim’s mission-compelled heart grew deeper. Their experiences indirectly became my own, and for the second year in a row I was allowed to see through their eyes the unknown joys and opportunities that still eluded my own discovery. God was lifting clouds in my line of vision and showing me the possibilities on the horizon if I was willing to let Him lead me there.

The nest that had been cozy and safe before now felt small and stale. My routine flight patterns were no longer satisfying and the yet uncharted open skies beckoned.

It was a “molting” process of sorts for this timid eagle, the trust that I had placed in God over the past two years, had born a higher, clearer view of my loving Father. One who not only invited His daughter to join Him in heights un-imagined, but Who also gave her a heart like His to fly when He beckoned. 

It was in the higher skies of God’s testing and in the vastness of His glory that I found a freedom unlike any I had known before. It was there that He transformed me, unfurled my wings and sent me out to soar.

And what I saw and experienced was breathtaking…

"As an eagle stirs up its nest, and hovers over its young; as it spreads its wings, takes them up, and bears them aloft on its pinions, the Lord alone guided them."   Deuteronomy 32:11