F is for FLYING

I'm not a particular fan of small planes nor any plane with propellers so when a small plane has a propeller at the front or one on each wing, I'm not the most comfortable of travellers, especially when I can see the pilot in his cockpit from my seat and have a grandstand view of all his controls. And even though it was a small plane, we still managed to have a hostess whose job it was to attend the forty or so passengers during their flight across the Irish Sea to the south of England. This was my first time out of Belfast City airport and though I had flown many times before, I can't say that I love it or hate. Perhaps I just tolerate it but mum, who was sitting next to me had probably only flown once before, in the relative comfort and security of a large passenger jet into Heathrow. So when the pilot produced a large flask from behind his seat and told the hostess to serve the afternoon coffee on the flight, I think we both found it slightly disconcerting. Of course we were already more than a bit anxious as the storm brewing over the city on that day produced hurricane like winds that seemed to be throwing our little plane about at will. It seemed to take an age just to get off the ground and up to a sensible height where the gales had less impact. I can't say I enjoyed the experience but the staff were always helpful and I know the pilot was more experienced in these conditions than I could possibly imagine so generally the flight was more or less without incident.

I didn't imagine that I would ever see the need to get into a small plane again but unfortunately, a few years later I was to find myself in an even tinier contraption with room for only about twenty passengers and where all of our hand luggage sat beneath our feet, due to the lack of overhead lockers. It was a short journey, from Johannesburg to the town of Nelspruit, our 'drop off' point for Kruger National Park, though I guess the term 'drop off' could have been very appropriate. And while our time in the air was minimal, the view was breathtaking as we circled the hills and valleys and suddenly there appeared a runway up ahead and a gentle landing. But the flight was more memorable for the acquaintance we had made with another passenger, an Englishman, who spent most of his time in the bush and whose job was to be a guide for those who wanted to do a spot of game hunting and could afford his rather expensive hire charge. Still, he was a busy man for most of the season and I suppose when you take into account that not only was he guide but also protector for people who were more used to living in the suburbs of an English city, then it was money well spent. Yet during the flight, I could never come to terms with the several long flight cases full of a variety of guns and other weapons that lay at his feet and along the central aisle during our journey. What if he was a maniac or mass murderer? Apart from my innermost thoughts and, as I discovered, the similar thoughts of my companions, the flight was generally without incident.

We were on our way from New York down to Florida long before the days of 9/11, when security was less intense and probably less needed. The flight itself was less than half full and it was a bit of a novel experience being able to choose almost any seat on the plane without the restrictions of a neighbour's elbows or shoulders. And with so little to do, the air host even had the time to perch himself on the arm of a seat and chat to us for part of the flight. But the most memorable thing about the journey was another acquaintance we made on the way down south, with an older gentleman who had worked Cape Kennedy during the whole of the Apollo Space Mission programme and who knew all the famous astronauts on first name terms. After his retirement, he had spent his latter years helping out at Sea World, so when we arrived one morning at our hotel reception and discovered that he had left free tickets for the park, we were overjoyed and amazed at his generosity. During our conversations he talked much about Ireland and wanted to go there but his wife wouldn't fly so he only knew it from afar. So that autumn, we parcelled up some books with vivid pictures and photographs of the Emerald Isle and sent them off to his address as a way of showing our appreciation for his kindness. But he wasn't finished yet and shortly before Christmas that year a large wooden box of Florida oranges arrived direct from the other side of the world, courtesy of the man who knew the men on the the moon.

Some time later we were again coming in to land at Chicago airport. The plane had almost reached the ground , for the buildings were already at eye level with the porthole where I was seated when suddenly we took off into the sky again and circled for the next fifteen minutes, Eventually the Captain spoke to explain that the change of plan had been caused by another plane veering on to the runway where we were about to land and only for his evasive action might have caused a serious accident. The subsequent landing, though not without anxious thoughts, passed off without incident.

Isn't it great to know that our journey through life doesn't have to be always a struggle and that there are always fellow believers looking out to help us either directly or through their prayers. And isn't it even better to know that we have a shepherd who is not only our guide but also our protector and even when we do struggle, He is still there and more importantly has suffered more than we will ever have to, so He knows exactly what our struggles are. A friend recently told us that his granny's favourite song was 'There's not a friend like the lowly Jesus' and I love the chorus in it which says 'Jesus knows all about our struggles, He will guide till the day is done.' What comfort that is to each of us that He already sees the road ahead and helps us to deal with the challenges both good and not so good that come our way. As the old hymn says, 'Jesus Saviour, pilot me.'