Turning to my left, I looked out the airplane window, waiting for takeoff. The effects of hours of light snow and sub-zero temperatures were obvious everywhere. A light layer of snow covered some areas of the gate area pavement. Plows scurried about, back and forth, relentlessly working to keep the ground clear.
I was more interested in the wings—the plane’s left wing stretched out right below my seat. Unmistakably, a thin coat of ice covered the surface. I wondered, “Will those flaps really flap when they’re supposed to flap?”
About that time, Michael from the flight deck announced reassuringly that we would shortly back away from the gate for de-icing. He was right. I don’t recall ever having a front-row seat to watch the process. It was intriguing. A tanker truck pulled up alongside the plane. Perched above the truck, a guy in a tiny cabin operated the boom that reached out its wands and hose to spray the magical fluid—a liquid dissolving the layer of ice and, presumably, preventing further freezing.
Meanwhile, looking about the cabin, no one showed any signs of concern whatsoever. Not any interest, really. I alone observed the process.
I reflected on the past two and a half hours. Left the house at 2:15 a.m. It was -6, and tiny snowflakes sputtered about. Eastbound on I-88, the snow intensified. At that hour of the morning, the plows and salt trucks obviously weren’t in a panic to clear the highway. Not much traffic, after all. Everything picked up closer to the outskirts of Chicagoland. Enough snow accumulated between the lanes that the car slid a tad crossing from one to another. So even though I had a plane to catch, I drove below the speed limit.
“Did anyone else on this plane drive through that stuff?” I wondered. It would seem that some might show a little bit of nervousness.
Nope.
Nonchalant phone scrolling. Reading a book. Settling in for a nap. Leafing through the flight magazine.
Only I looked out a window. All others had the shades down, blocking out the terminal lights in the early morning darkness.
For the few dozen other passengers on board, it could’ve been a clear-skied, sunny, 75-degree mid-June day. Nothing to be concerned about. Everything would be fine. The flaps would flap…the plane ascend…we’d reach 37,000 feet for an hour or so and land without incident at our destination.
Everyone around me—people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors—expressed implicit trust in the entire system.
Surely, I thought, they’ve heard the stories of system malfunctions in harsh winter weather. Inadequate de-icing…frozen flaps…planes skidding off the runway. Couldn’t that happen to this flight.
Nah.
Everyone of us sauntered aboard, found our seats, strapped on the seat belt, and waited for eventual departure—like we’ve done many times before. Trusting the system, the pilots, the de-icing boom operator…everything and everyone.
After ten minutes or so of de-icing, we made our way to the runway, engines roared as the plane raced down the runway, flaps flapped, and off we went. Seconds later, nothing but smooth flying as the long metal tube banked eastward on its ascent to 37,000 feet. An hour and a half later, we taxied to the gate at our destination. All good.
Seems like that implicit trust was well founded. This time, at least.
Implicit Trust?
As I thought about how easily it seems to be for airline passengers to trust an almost always reliable system, my mind went to counsel offered by Solomon the wise:
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. – Proverbs 3:5–6 (ESV)
“…with all your heart.”
Yep, that’s what we were doing on American Airlines flight #2324. Trusting with all our hearts.
In our adult Bible study, we’re working our way through Craig Troxel’s book With All Your Heart.
What does he mean by the “heart”? What does God mean by it?
Much more, it turns out, than what we typically mean in our culture. We tend to limit the idea of our “heart” to our feelings or emotion. But the biblical term encompasses much more. To quote Troxel,
The heart is the governing center of a person. When used simply, it reflects the unity of our inner being, and when used comprehensively, it describes the complexity of our inner being—as composed of mind (what we know), desires (what we love), and will (what we choose). – p. 21
So, think of my fellow airline passengers. Weren’t we trusting the whole airline system with all our heart? Because of that trust, instead of being on edge, fidgeting, and fear-stricken, the control-center of our inner being allowed us to calmly scroll our phones or take a nap.
But going back to Solomon’s counsel. He advises centering our trust on a different object. Not the airline system, but the Maker of air and land and all else.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart.
If only we did that as easily as we trust a system of human invention! Instead, we too often do just the opposite of the corollary to his counsel, right? We indeed lean on our understanding of things. And because we do that, we look at the figurative ice-coated wings and worry.
We don’t look at those wings in light of what we know about God our Creator and heavenly Father. And because we love ourselves and our plans and dreams and goals and desires, we don’t trust that He desires better. So, we then choose to act as we think best.
How many times have we trusted ourselves with all our heart, leaned on our own understanding, and ended up struggling down some crooked way?
Alas.
Would that we who call upon our Father in heaven come to trust him implicitly—with all our heart.
