A THOUSAND MILES FROM HOME

I was a thousand miles from home the day George died. The day was as unfit for travel as it was for hearing such terrible news. Storms raging in Dallas grounded my flight from Des Moines. After a two-hour delay, the plane lifted off in defiance of the menacing sky.

At 22,000 feet, the pilot informed us of what we already knew; we were in for a bumpy ride, too turbulent for beverages or trips down the aisle. He added, “I am requesting clearance to ascend to 33,000 feet. The higher we go, the less turbulent it will be.” What he spoke as aviation truth, I heard as an apt metaphor for how I could weather the turbulent days ahead.

Even at 35,000 feet, we saw neither sky nor sun. On either side, there was nothing but relentless gray. For the second time that day, I had a picture to explain my life. I, too, was lost in a cloud, unable to see what lay ahead or came at me from either side.

As the pilot relied on his instruments, I knew I could fly by faith, trusting the all-reliable guidance system of my heavenly father and following every word he said. In my personal world so abruptly plunged into darkness, I am hanging onto this promise, “For with you is the fountain of life: in your light we see light.” (Psa. 36:9).

Now at Christmas, in this season of lights, every twinkling bulb reminds me “in your light we see light.” Through the fog of my current existence, I am looking toward the Light, knowing clarity will come.