Faith Over Fear
When I was a little girl, my dad would take me up in a tiny four-seater Cessna. We’d fly miles above the clouds, gliding seamlessly through the air. He gave me free reign of the controls, and I’d push the yoke in with both hands and quickly yank it back out, allowing the sudden drop in altitude to make our stomachs turn somersaults above the earth. “Can I do another tummy tickler?” I would gleefully beg. I was never scared, not even for a second. My dad loved flying; He sold airplanes for a living, and his passion for the friendly skies was fun with a capital F!
Before we were ever airborne, I loved watching the pre-flight ritual he mindfully performed. He would carefully walk around the plane, inspecting every part of the aircraft for perfect function. He checked the landing gear, the wings, the fuel tank, the wheels; nothing escaped his due diligence. It was the rhythmic process I loved the most; somehow, it made me feel safer. Once strapped in, his low-pitched voice would radio the tower, “This is Tengo-four-nine-nine, ready for take-off.” And then, with a burst of energy, he’d look over his left shoulder, facing the half-opened window from the pilot seat, and yell, “CLEAR!” (My little brother and I still randomly yell “clear” to this day and burst out laughing over this shared memory).
So what does all of this have to do with faith, anyway? Everything. As a believer, I know that fear and faith cannot coexist. But as I grew into adulthood, my love for flying took a mysterious nosedive. And the worst part was that I felt ashamed of it. The truth is that struggling with fear and anxiety can happen to anyone, even Christians. In my experience, the answer wasn’t to pray more or try harder to “get over it.” The answer is, and always has been, surrender.
It’s wild to admit this, but after a long battle of this gnawing anxiety, I finally discussed it with a Christian counselor. My God-sent, Jesus-loving therapist helped me realize how this feeling of fight or flight was trying to warn me of danger, but ultimately, I had the final say. She said, “Your anxiety is hijacking you” (What a pun).
Her deep understanding of trauma and the brain provided me with the clarity I needed to stop allowing anxiety to hijack my nervous system and control my actions every time I boarded a plane. I had control over my thinking, not my anxiety. She calmly said, “What we focus on grows.” That’s it! Every strange noise, each little bump, would send my mind spiraling. I had to shift my focus from what I couldn’t control to what I could! I focused on the book I was reading, my kids’ laughter, the flight attendant’s kindness, and all the little God winks along the way. I would choose to magnify God’s grace, not my fear.
I recently stepped across the threshold and touched the outer nose of the plane I was boarding for a long family vacation. Miraculously, rather than being gripped with panic, I smiled at the welcoming attendants. I looked people in the eyes as I made my way down the aisle, and rather than looking for signs of worry, I offered my quiet assurance. What you focus on grows. I searched for joy, I looked for warmth, I sought out laughter. I was free. God took away my fear and gave me peace beyond comprehension.
While up in the air, the sun was brilliant, and light was beaming through the plane's windows. The warm rays caught my face and lingered on my cheeks. I closed my eyes and felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. This is peace. I smiled at the knowledge that He was present and thanked Him with every fiber of my being for delivering me from the debilitating, crippling fear. And in the holy silence, the whole plane seemed empty. “Take off your shoes,” I heard the love in my heavenly father’s tender voice. I slipped my platform sneakers off, allowing my bare feet to feel the sunshine as they rested on the floorboard. Like Moses and the burning bush, I saw what I was focused on: the presence of Almighty God. Thirty thousand feet above ground, I was a little girl again, with no fear and confident trust in my Father. In that moment, my feet were on holy ground…resting on the belly of a 747, high above the earth, touching heaven.
