Fear of Flying
7Where could I go from your Spirit? Or where could I flee from your presence? 8If I ascend up into heaven, you are there. If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, you are there! 9If I take the wings of the dawn, and settle in the uttermost parts of the sea; 10Even there your hand will lead me, and your right hand will hold me.
The psalmist imagines the most extreme journey he can — taking 'the wings of the dawn' to the far side of the sea — and discovers there is nowhere the flight can take him that God has not already arrived. Fear of flying is rarely about aerodynamics; it is about handing over control, sealed in a cabin, with nothing to hold. This psalm speaks directly to that: at cruising altitude, over open water, in the bumpy stretch the captain didn't announce — 'even there your hand will lead me.' You cannot be carried anywhere that is outside his reach. The plane has a destination; so does his attention.
Is it the flying you fear, or the handing over of control — and what would it mean to hand it to someone steadier than the weather?
God, I'm buckled in and my heart is louder than the engines. You know I've read the statistics and they don't help, because this fear doesn't listen to numbers. So I'm telling it something else: even here, seat-belted above the clouds, your hand is leading me; your right hand is holding me. Steady my breathing when the plane shivers. Quiet the part of me that grips the armrest as if I were the one keeping us up. And when we land, remind me to thank you — for the safe arrival, and for the small proof that fear and I can fly together and still arrive. Amen.