I wish you could see me right now. I wish you could feel what I’m feeling. This is one of those times where everything feels just about perfect. Let me describe it for you.
The current time is 11:35 EST, but I have no idea where I am. I am on a plane. I am in business class, in what I’ve dubbed my bubble of comfort. It’s my own little room, complete with an table, charging ports for my phone and laptop, and a window. I just had a four course meal; I can still taste the ice cream in the back of my mouth. I watched the sunset over Detroit as we ascended, watched Argo and now I’m listening to a British indie electronica album I’ve never heard of but I’m going to have to look up later on the provided noise-canceling headphones. My feet are spread out in my lay-flat seat, but my back is propped up so I can comfortably type this. The lights are dimmed, so all the light I can see is from the reading light and the glow on my computer screen. I’ve got the flight tracker on the foot-long TV screen telling my I’ve got 4 hours and 16 minutes left of this. The flight attendant knows my name. I’m probably going to sleep for a little bit after I finish this. It’s really nice. It’s unbelievably peaceful.
I am, of course, flying back home, where there is a job waiting for me. A month after that, I’m off to a new school, away from home, with people I don’t know. If I’m comfortable right now, 30 days from now may be the most uncomfortable I’ve been in a while.
But you know what? I’m so convicted of how faithful the Lord is. For all the complaining and lamenting and my terrible attitude about nearly everything recently, He’s never given up. He’s never even considered it. He hurt when I hurt. It pained Him to watch me wrestle with all the doubt and the fear.
And now here I am, with six hours and thirty eight minutes. 6:38 in a giant metal vessel that somehow allows humans to fly 40,000 feet above the ground to get across the world overnight. Despite how impossible and dangerous and scary that is, I’m comfortable and relaxed. Wrapped in a blanket doing one of my favorite things, tired in the best way.
Life doesn’t always look like a bubble of comfort. Sometimes it looks like the cramped economy section of an old, dirty plane with crusted food on the tray table and grease streaks on the grainy monitor. But that doesn’t make God any less good, make me any less loved. There’s rough air and nauseating turbulence even in the nicest of seats. I’ve always got a seatbelt on–my head my hurt for a little, but I’m still perfectly safe. Comfort is a bonus.
In real life, we are not called to complacency. Being comfortable is not in the breakdown. In this world you will have troubles. Will. That’s not tentative. Your head will hurt. You’ll be nauseous, your legs will be stiff, your knees will ache, you’ll be sitting next to a fat person who snores loudly, you’ll spill food all over you, you’ll wait half and hour to go to the bathroom which is disgusting anyway, you’ll drop your phone multiple times, you will be tired and jetlagged and won’t have brushed your hair or teeth in 24 hours, you’ll barely make that connection, your bag will be searched in security.
You will make it to your destination. Safe and sound.
He knows what He’s doing, and it’s awesome. He is perfectly faithful and good and loving and you will get nothing less than that. I don’t know where you are, but I can promise you His faithfulness. You may be in first class or you may be in the very back row across from the bathroom next to a toddler, but you’re getting somewhere. Make sure your tray table is stowed, your seat is in the upright position and all carry on luggage is in the overhead compartment or under the seat in front of you.
Enjoy your flight!