Anyone who knows me, is all too aware that I am scared to death of air travel. The paranoia begins about four hours before airport departure as I sweat and panic at the thought of getting into a flying tube. In flight, I clutch my cross necklace and say my 'goodbyes' at each tumble of turbulence. My fear ends only as the plane touches down and I thank God for delivering me safely (while I mutter to myself how I should be in control, because clearly I would have flown the plane better than the loon at the helm).However, there was a brief respite in my persistent flight fright on my most recent trip to London (my location at press time). Not only was the flight going to be in record time thanks to some hefty tailwind, but also I was blessed with three empty seats and so I fitfully attempted to snooze as a way of making the time pass. Clearly, it was not going to happen and so I gazed out the window.
We were just west of the Hudson Bay and the sky was pitch black save for the most amazing display of Northern Lights. It sounds cheesy, but I was immediately at peace as I watched the glow flickering across the sky as if invisible ice skaters were leaving a trail of green embers as they sliced across a night pond. It looked like the darkness were tearing open to reveal some lightness beyond and it made everything quiet in its beauty for almost two hours. I was silent, awe-struck.
How can you not believe in God?
