Pilot
The floods have risen up, O Lord. The floods have roared like thunder; the floods have lifted their
pounding waves. But mightier than the violent raging of the seas, mightier than
the breakers on the shore — the Lord above is mightier than these!
(Psalm 93:4-5)
When I was
teenager, I had a chance to join my dad on his company’s corporate jet bound
for Corcoran, California. At the time, my dad worked for a company that grew and
milled cotton in California's San Joaquin Valley. To this day, the company remains
the country's largest producer of cotton. But on this particular day I wasn’t
just a passenger, I was the co-pilot – seated alongside Dick Gillespie, the
company’s long-time, full-time pilot.
He was standing at
the cockpit entrance, greeting the corporate executives with whom I was privileged
to fly that day. "Welcome aboard, Randy." I looked up and there was Mr.
Gillespie. He was the Methuselah of the airways; he’d been flying forever. He was
a decorated World War II pilot, and had logged thousands of flying hours. Dick
was a great pilot. I knew that because my dad had told me so.
We chatted for a
few minutes, and then I went to my seat with a sense of assurance – the
co-pilot’s seat. What more could I ask? I
thought. The pilot is experienced and proven,
and I’m seated right next to him; I’m in very good hands. And that knowledge
came in handy because about thirty minutes into the flight we hit a wall of
winds. The executives gasped, dentures rattled, and Dick told us to check our
seat belts and rosary beads. I've had smoother roller coaster rides. Unlike the
other passengers, however, I stayed calm. I didn't have a death wish, but I had
an advantage. I knew the pilot. I knew Dick, and I was seated right next to him.
I knew his heart and trusted his skill. Dick
can handle this, I told myself. The storm was bad, but the pilot was good.
So as much as a teenaged co-pilot could relax, I did.
It's a stormy
world out there. Every day brings turbulence. Moody economy; aging bodies; declining
job market; increasing street violence; natural disasters. The question during
these troubling times is this: Do we have a good pilot? The resounding response
of the Bible is, “Yes.” “You are good, LORD.” (Ps. 25:7) “Good and upright is
the LORD.” (Ps. 25:8) “You, Lord, are forgiving and good. (Ps. 86:5) God is
good – good in skill and good in heart.
Most people
suffer from small thoughts about God. In an effort to see him as our friend, we
have lost his immensity. In our desire to understand him, we have sought to
contain him. But the God of the Bible can’t be contained. He brought order out
of chaos; he created creation. With a word he called Adam out of dust, and Eve
out of a bone. He didn’t consult a committee, or seek independent counsel. He
has no peer. "I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none
like me." (Isa. 46:9)
Alexander the
Great is a mound of dust in a tomb. The queen of England is called Her Majesty,
but she has to eat and bathe and rest. The True Majesty, on the other hand, is
never hungry. He never sleeps. He has never needed attention or assistance.
From the tiniest microbe to the mightiest mountain, "he sustains
everything by the mighty power of his command." (Heb. 1:3) He has
authority over the world and . . . he has authority over your world.
Your sleep
patterns. Your eating habits. Your salary. The traffic of your commute. The
arthritis in your joints. God reigns over all of these. He's never surprised,
and he has never, ever uttered the phrase "How’d that happen?" God's
power is unsurpassed, and his heart is unblemished. "There’s nothing
deceitful in God, nothing two-faced, nothing fickle." (James 1:17) No
hidden agenda. No selfish motive. He loves with a good love and forgives with a
good forgiveness. Good as in
"beautiful, best, bountiful."
God's goodness
is a major headline in the Bible, and I think I know why. If God were only
mighty, we’d salute him. But since he’s merciful and mighty, we can approach
him. No wonder the psalmist invited, "Taste and see that the LORD is good."
(Ps. 34:8) A glimpse of God's goodness changes us. God's unrivaled goodness
undergirds everything else we can say about prayer. Because if he’s like us, but
only slightly stronger, then why pray? If he grows weary, then why bother? If
he has limitations, questions and hesitations, then you might as well pray to
the Wizard of Oz. However, if God is at once Father and Creator, holy – unlike
us – and high above us, then we at any point are only a prayer away from help.
When I was my mid-twenties,
I purchased a restored 1968 MGB from a friend. It was a beautiful car – not
very practical for a young family, but my friend made me an offer I couldn’t
refuse. Candy apple red. Chrome spoke rims. Black tonneau cover. Four-speed
transmission and dual carburetors on that four-cylinder English beast of an
engine. It replaced the pickup truck I’d inherited from my folks.
I remember my
friend handing me the keys. "You have to keep gas in the tank," he advised.
"I know." "Air in the tires." "I know." "Can
you change the oil?" "Of course I can," I lied. Truth be told, I
didn't know the difference between a manifold and a windshield wiper. My
friend, on the other hand, was a professional, and he made a hobby out of restoring
cars. He worked on machines like Monet worked with watercolors. He tried to
teach me, and I tried to learn, but when it came to machines, my brain was like
Teflon. Nothing stuck, but I wasn't
about to tell that to my friend.
As life would
have it, my ineptitude surfaced one Saturday. My friend reminded me that it was
probably time to change the oil in the MG and volunteered to help. "Do you
know how to do it?" "Yes," I answered. "You want me to help
you?" I should have said yes. I spent an hour under the car looking for
the oil pan, and another hour wrestling with the plug. I finally removed it,
drained the oil, crawled out, and poured in five new quarts. Finished at last.
Or so I thought. During my misadventure, and perhaps sensing that I was
mechanically challenged, my friend had come over and was waiting for me.
"All done?" "All done." "You sure?"
"Yessir." "Then what is that?" He pointed to a river of oil
running down the asphalt – clean oil. I'd forgotten to replace the plug in the
oil pan. "We need to talk," he said.
My friend then
walked me over to his truck. He opened the side panel and showed me tray upon
tray of tools. He began to describe the purpose of each. "I use this one
to remove oil filters, this one to tighten clamps, this one to attach hoses,
this one to . . . " He took me tool by tool through his truck. And after
what seemed like an hour of show-and-tell, he closed the cabinet, locked it and
then looked me straight in the eye. "Randy," he said, "I fix and
restore things as a hobby. What’s hard for you is simple to me. I may not be
good at everything, but I am good with cars. Let me help you. Cars are my
passion. And, besides, I'm your friend." I never spilled another drop of
oil.
Here’s what I
think: our toughest challenges are simple oil changes to God. And here’s what
else I think: a lot of us make unnecessary messes. But we can change that. Here’s
how.
It's a Monday
morning. The alarm clock lives up to its name. Clang! Clang! Clang! You groan, roll over and sit up. In the old
days you would have made the coffee, turned on the news and begun your day with
a briefing on the toxic problems in our world. But today you turn to prayer – a
simple prayer. Still half asleep, you take your coffee and you lumber toward a
chair and take a seat. You don't look like much: face pillow creased, hair
smashed. No matter. You haven't come to look at you. You’ve come to look at
God.
Father, Daddy, Abba . . . . The words
come slowly at first. But you stick with it. You are good. Your heart is good. Your ways are right . . . The
words stir you. Something within begins to awaken. The weather is bad, the economy is bad, but God … you’re awesome. And
don't underestimate the power of that moment. You just opened the door to God
and welcomed truth to enter your heart. Faith snuck in while despair was dozing.
And who knows? You might even start to worship. Right there. In your chair.
Morning breath and all. God doesn’t care what you look like, or even small like
for that matter. He’s a lot more interested in your heart.
Is your world
different because you prayed? In one sense, no. Wars still rage, traffic still
clogs, heartbreakers and natural disasters still stalk the planet. But you’re different.
You have peace. You've spent time with the Pilot. And the Pilot is up to the
task.
Mr. Gillespie,
as it turns out, got us through the storm that day just fine. He landed the
plane and stood in the cockpit door as we exited the flight. "Got a little
choppy there, Mr. Gillespie," I said as I was leaving my co-pilot’s seat.
"Yeah," he agreed, “and you can call me Dick. Were you scared, Randy?"
"No, not really," I replied. "Everything changes when you know
the pilot. And better yet, I was sitting there right next to him, and now I have
the privilege of calling him by his first name."
Grace,
Randy
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