ready, set, jet set me

Yesterday morning, I woke up just after 5 am. I had a scheduled business trip to Minneapolis that left at 6:40. So, I woke startled by the darkness and pushed my way into the bathroom where I had carefully laid out my suit and tie and my laptop bag. I rushed through my shower, hitting at least 80% of the important body parts, threw on my somewhat constricting clothes, grabbed a mostly yellow banana and some tasty green tea with pomegranate lips or hips or something, and hurried out the front door.

I sped up to the airport in the darkness, somewhat afraid that something would go wrong and I would miss my flight. Not wanting to risk my flight on waiting for the notoriously timely airport shuttle bus, I parked in the circle parking just outside the gate for a whopping $18 for about 10 hours of parking. I found my gate, entered into the line of eager beavers also waiting to have their privacy invaded, and stepped through the shiny white metal detector without my shoes, jacket, wallet, or dignity. About 2 minutes later, boarding began, and I found myself in the window seat at 6:20, next to two rather robust and anti-talkative senior citizens, who were probably more used to competing with the roosters to wake up first than I was.

I have to admit, at this point, I was not too appreciative of where I was at. I wanted to be in bed. I wanted to be in a space large enough for my body. I felt like I was trying out for some role in a musical about a mental hospital. Crammed into my suit and tiny seat, I could hardly move my torso. It was at that moment that I saw hope for my deliverance. A magic silvery button glistened from the armrest below. Could this be my easy button to comfort? I wrapped my fingers around the plastic armrest, closed my eyes, pushed the button, and waited. Mysteriously, my seat back began to recline. As I leaned back, my body rejoiced in the hope that comfort would soon be coming. Just then the maniacal mechanical monster halted. Those 3 inches were an appetizer sent from the devil of airplane designers to mock me at that moment. The seat would move no further. The three inches meant that for me to lay my head on the side, I was now perfectly aligned with the concave port hole window. So, I leaned into the window, bending over my armrest, and waited for my spine to grow a new hinge. It was at the moment, that the intercom rattled with the crackling voice of the steward. So I raised my seat back those tantalizing 3 inches, and waited for take off.

Up, up, up the plane climbed. When I boarded, it was perfectly dark, but as we climbed in the cloudless sky - the sun decided to greet the morning. Almost tandem with the movement of the plane, the vibrant deep orange orb rose from the prairie-lined horizon. As the jet climbed, my complaining ceased and I was in awe of the sunrise and the sight of land as far as I can see. The sky was so clear, the horizon ran on as far as I could see. It reminded me of the way the ocean and sky never seem to let go of one another when you are several miles off the coast.

Below I saw jigsawed parcels of land, the reflections of lakes, and the dark stream beds that fed them. I could pick out the roofs of mansions that suddenly looked like tiny, meticulously detailed models. Moving along the dark lines written deep in the dirt were busy reflections, each rushing their own way into the morning. As far as I could see, I saw rich evergreens, rigidly-etched plow lines, balloon-like water towers... I realized I could only focus on one portion of my gaze at a time. It was too much to try to take in all at once. I could see the earth end as it curved around the corner of some farm to the north and some river to the south.


It was in this moment that I was suddenly awe struck by the power of God. I could barely imagine trying to keep up with what I was seeing in that moment, let alone an entire planet. As important as my life is in my own head, all the moving reflections and miniature homes below housed other people, very concerned about their own lives. And God knows them all. Imagine that. No one is a stranger to Him.

I have never created an acre of land. Yet He, with the power of His echoing words, created the Earth and the Sun that was lighting the morning. As the revelation of His greatness hit me, all I could do was worship Him, as I silently expressed my gratitude a couple thousand feet up in the air.

Something I have come to believe is - the primary reason that people do not worship God is because they do not see Him for who He is, myself included. Worship should not flow out of religious duty or holy performance or well-intentioned guilt. It is naturally reflected from the heart of one who sees God, in some facet, in their life. Up until that moment, I was pretty caught up in me... as most of my days go. That morning, I saw His majesty spread before me across the prairie, and I honored Him in my heart.

May we all stop and see again, or for the first time, where He is displayed in front of us - and worship.