I trust you, O Lord. I said, “You are my God.” My future is in your hands. [Psalm 31:14-15a (GW)]
By the time our son was seventeen, he had his pilot’s license. To log solo flight time, he’d often fly from his school in another state to a small airport near our home. We’d meet him there and enjoy lunch together before he returned. Sometimes, he’d take one of us up for a short flight over the scenic countryside before he flew back to school. I don’t even like commercial flights on a jumbo jet with a seasoned pilot so getting on a single-engine Cessna with a teenager at the controls was a leap of faith for me. Nevertheless, when I’m on a plane, I have to leave the flying to those far more skilled than I—even when it’s a seventeen-year-old! Reassuring myself that there was less my son could hit in the air (while trying to forget that safely landing a plane was probably more difficult than parallel parking), I surrendered control to him and trusted that he knew what he was doing.
God is my Co-Pilot is the title of a 1945 film based on the World War II exploits of Robert Lee Scott, Jr. That title eventually became a Christianese catch-phrase and still can be found on bumper stickers today. While a charming sentiment, it is theologically incorrect. If God is our co-pilot, we’re in the wrong plane! There are no dual controls in God’s plane and He doesn’t want us touching the yoke or messing with the rudder pedals. God is neither our assistant nor are we His. He’s not the passenger on our plane; we’re the passengers on His. We don’t belong anywhere in the cockpit; we belong back in the cabin. He has a flight plan specifically designed for each of us and we have to trust that plan to Him.
While it’s easy to trust in God’s sovereignty and cede the controls to Him when the journey is smooth, it’s much harder when turbulence occurs or it begins to storm. I’ve had some bumpy (and frightening) flights, especially over the mountains in summer, but I never barged into the cockpit to take charge nor did I don a parachute and bail out. Trusting the captain, I surrendered control to him, buckled up, prayed, and let him do his job.
Unfortunately, it’s difficult for me to admit that I’m no better at running my life than I am at piloting a plane. While I’m willing to trust a complete stranger to pilot me safely home in the midst of a storm, I often bail out or push into the cockpit of life and try to seize the controls from God at the first sign of turbulence in life. The end result is that I crash and burn and God ends up being rescue squad, fire department, clean-up crew, and salvage expert. Trust and obey is really all God asks of us, and yet we often try to do His job for Him.
Heavenly Father, forgive us for the many times we try to wrest control of our lives to go in another direction than the one you planned for us. As Creator of the Universe, we concede that you are far more skilled at plotting the best route, keeping us on course, and handling all the storms, unruly fellow travelers, engine problems, and fuel shortages that trouble our days. Secure in your love for us, we know that you want us to have a safe landing. You are the captain—the pilot of our plane. Trusting in you, we are your passengers awaiting your orders.
When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer. [Corrie Ten Boom]
Every year, Britain’s The Oldie magazine celebrates the achievements of the “older generation’ by granting their “Oldie of the Year Awards.” According to the magazine’s founder, Richard Ingrams, it’s not enough for someone simply to be an “elderly achiever”—you also must show that you still have “snap in your celery.” This year, wanting to recognize Queen Elizabeth II for her leadership during the pandemic, the magazine offered her the honor of being their “Oldie of the Year.” The 95-year-old monarch, however, politely declined saying, “Her Majesty believes you are as old as you feel, as such The Queen does not believe she meets the relevant criteria to be able to accept, and hopes you will find a more worthy recipient.” What a great attitude; there’s a woman who still has snap in her celery!
When visiting our daughter’s family in New Mexico one October, stormy weather caused us to switch from the pumpkin patch/corn maze outing to an escape room attempt. With just an hour to solve a mystery and “escape,” we entered into a room filled with assorted puzzles, locks, props, and gadgets. Knowing we had to discover clues and complete a series of clever puzzles, we novices decided to divide and conquer. Each person worked on a different task speaking to their individual strengths. I worked on word puzzles while others worked on number challenges, dexterity puzzles, combination locks, or searched for hidden clues.
In the years that followed our first maze experience, we continued the pumpkin patch/corn maze tradition but at a farm with a smaller and easier maze. While there were no arrows on stakes to assist the totally confused, there was a larger and better map. Since my daughter and husband have a far better sense of direction than do I, they carried the map and led the rest of us through the maze.
Although we usually visit my daughter’s family in New Mexico in October, my broken ankle canceled our plans. The only bright spot in the cancelation is that I won’t have to participate in the dreaded family tradition of navigating through the corn maze at the pumpkin farm! I say “dreaded” because I’m so directionally challenged that I’d have trouble finding my way out of a box. Actually, after our first outing, I’m surprised any of us ever again ventured into another corn maze.
While visiting my son last summer, I was walking in his neighborhood when a car raced out of a blind driveway and, without even slowing to look for cars or people, sped down the street. If I hadn’t paused briefly by the gate to get a flower photo, I would have had an intimate encounter with the vehicle. After thanking God that I hadn’t become road kill, I continued down the road and turned onto the walking path. I was a little disconcerted when a car approached and stopped but, when the driver lowered his window and called out to me, I realized it was the driver of the speeding car. After offering an earnest apology, he explained he’d been late for a meeting but added that his tardiness was no excuse for his recklessness. Ashamed of his behavior, he’d returned to make sure I was OK. Assuring him I was fine, I wished him well. I was both shocked and touched by the unexpected apology. While unnecessary, it was much appreciated since I knew the driver probably lost another ten minutes by turning around to find me and apologize.
Devotions of the Heart 