The small prop plane rises from the runway in Salt Lake City. Rain falls. Charcoal clouds churn. The plane pitches left to right.
A business woman in heels and pearls grips her armrest across the aisle from me; her knuckles yellow, then whiten.
The plane dives suddenly, sending my stomach into my throat and drawing a gasp from everyone onboard.
The eight year-old and her little brother behind me throw their hands in the air. “Weeeeeee!” they laugh. “This is so cool, Dad!” Dad is silent.
A man in sunglasses, flat billed cap cocked sideways, crosses his shiny black patten shoes, bows his head and makes the sign of the cross over his gold chains and pectoral muscles.
The plane climbs, drops, rolls left and right, drops, zig-zagging its was through the gray vapor over Utah.
The flight attendant grabs the microphone and begins an altar call: “Every head bowed, every eye closed, no one looking at their neighbor…”
Ok, so I made that last part up but an invitation would work now for sure. A plane full of people buckled in and out of control. Hope, if not belief, is high.
Big sister and little brother are still laughing; weeing, exclaiming. “This! Is! Aaaawesome!”
Because they’ve never heard of Buddy Holly. They don’t realize that the odds of survival plummet as soon as a singer with a guitar gets on board.
They don’t watch the news. They haven’t heard about the recent crash on the west coast.
They don’t understand meteorology, the science of flight, the effect of a lightning strike on a metal fuselage, what a collision with the the unforgiving ground does to a speeding tube full of flimsy human beings.
I know. The business woman and the probably-athlete beside her knows.
“Woohoo!” big sister shouts. Little brother giggles himself into hiccups. “Wee-hic-eee-hic-eee-hic-eee!”
I turn to the business woman. She glances at me. “Wee,” I deadpan. We’re silent but smiling. White knuckles fill with pink again.
The plane dives.
“This is the best roller coaster ever!”
I relax, nod off and wake up in Spokane.
Southern Gal says:
I’ve never flown in my life. You confirm that I never want to fly…unless I have a couple of kids behind me having a blast through the turbulence!
Christine says:
When you’ve got Jesus to look forward to, you can always say, “Wee!” in near-death situations. Praise the Lord for that!
RaD says:
Yeah, but do we?
Amy says:
Sometimes I want to be a kid again. No worries about tomorrow, forgives easily, finds joy in everything. Sigh.
Christy Fitzwater says:
This is from God’s mouth to my soul today. He has put some wonderfully terryifyng new adventures in front of me, and I’m being white-knuckle obedient. You’ve made me laugh out loud, and I’m going to practice the “wee” every time I freak out over the next few weeks. As always, thank you for your rich words.
Kris says:
Oh man. What a ride, eh? Glad you landed safely, and thankful for the message here–I’m not saying “wee” enough these days.
Rachel S says:
great post.
Bill says:
You have a typo in this one bro: “zig-zagging its was”
Just telling you cause I’d want to know.
lindley says:
After having been in a plane crash myself, 20 years ago (that makes me sound so old) I remember those feelings! But I’m thankful now that when I happen to be on a turbulent flight, I’m no longer overcome with fear, as I used to be! Still praying, but no fear!