Fear of Flying

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                                           "Remind Me Who I Am"

When I lose my way,
And I forget my name,
Remind me who I am.
In the mirror all I see,
Is who I don't wanna be,
Remind me who I am.
In the loneliest places,
When I can't remember what grace is.

Tell me once again who I am to You,
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You.
To You.

When my heart is like a stone,
And I'm running far from home,
Remind me who I am.
When I can't receive Your love,
Afraid I'll never be enough,
Remind me who I am.
If I'm Your beloved,
Can You help me believe it.

Tell me once again who I am to You,
Who I am to You, whoa.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You.
That I belong to You.
To You.

I'm the one you love,
I'm the one you love,
That will be enough,
I'm the one you love.

Tell me once again who I am to You.
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You, oh.

Tell me once again who I am to You.
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You.
To You.

Recently, I took a low-profile, international trip. I didn't talk much about the fact that I was going, and I didn't stay away for very long. I got on my morning flight, and I headed north. As the engines roared and the landing gear motored back into the belly of the plane, I found myself amazed at my own reaction; I was totally calm. To give you an important piece of history, there was a time when flying in a plane was a very bad experience for me. In my childhood, without the regular dose of Dramamine I would be guaranteed to lose one or more meals during the airplane journey, but for me this was not nearly the worst part.

 For me, takeoffs and landings were my worst nightmare. I remember one trip to London via St. Lucia like it was yesterday. The flight was full to St. Lucia and at this time (pre 09/11) "staff" passengers could use the flight attendant jump seat. My mother was an operating senior Flight Attendant or junior Purser at the time, and she and I were travelling alone on a mother-daughter work outing to London. Mum did this often, and there was a very strict set of guidelines that crew members (and their families!) had to adhere to while representing the airline. Mum had made it clear to all three of her children what the rules were when she was working. Sometimes, my dad would come and we'd all go, and sometimes mum would take one or more children on her own.

This was a system that worked amazingly well, and we went on trips often. It went well except for the odd mid-galley throw-up or this one trip to London via St. Lucia. I was put to sit in a vacant jump seat for the flight across to St. Lucia and I obediently sat and clicked myself in. As soon as we began to taxi down the runway, I felt the panic rising in my chest. On any flight going anywhere, this was my time to panic. On this particular flight, I was facing a crowd of people staring at me and taxiing to take-off while facing backward. This was far too much for my eight year old Pteromerhanophobic self to bear. Tears welled in my eyes, and spilled over. As we accelerated into our ascent, I gripped my seat and dug my heels into the floor, not that I thought it could save me. I was in the throws of fear, and didn't care who saw my terror.

At some point back then, I may have heard an adult say that I was afraid of heights because I didn't like roller-coasters or flying, but eventually I realised something very important about my experience. I realised that I loved travelling and seeing some new city. Since I was a little girl, I was thrilled by the prospect of travel and I never remembered my terror until we began to taxi or make our descent. In those moments, it always looked the same - clutch the seat, stab my heels into the floor and pray. By the time I was an early teen, I had developed a mental picture that got me through the panic. I imagined God holding the plane like a small child holds a toy plane and flies it down. I rationalised that if God is holding the plane then it cannot fall. If God has the whole plane in His hands then I won't die a frightful death on this joyride to wherever. This got me through the panic, but it didn't ever take it away. In fact, so bad was my panic that once when I was flying somewhere and I took my Dramamine a little early, it knocked me out before we took off (or landed). When I woke up, the torturous event had already occurred (we were either airborne or landed). I basked in the afterglow of that relief for years.

Another important part of this story is that I never shared this fear with anyone. I never told my mother that the reason I behaved so strangely on that jump-seat was because I was petrified. Actually, by the time I'd developed the mental picture of God, I was settled into the notion that this was what life looked like for me on a plane at take-off or landing. No one needed to know, and I didn't need any help. I had my mental picture and I had my chanted, delirious, silent praying. Good enough!

When I was 17, I had a bizarre experience that changed my thinking forever. I was on track to become a pilot at the time. I figured that, like driving, if I was in control of the process it would be less scary/upsetting for me. That year, I went on a camp retreat with my youth group, and a man was asked to come to the camp to "bring a word." Now if you're familiar with church lingo, this could mean anything from preaching a sermon to prophesying. The man turned out to be bringing a little bit of both. At a crescendo in his message, he began calling specific people up to the pulpit. The man excitedly called for a young lady who was becoming a pilot. Knowing that I was the only one who fit the description, I walked to the front with all the morbid curiosity of anyone brought up in the Pentecostal church. The man smiled at me as I approached, and he said all the things preacher men say ("Glory Hallelujah! Ooooh Thank Ya Jesus!") then he put a hand on my shoulder and he looked me in the eyes. He said "The Lord says that you don't have to be afraid anymore. He wants you to fly. Fly for Jesus!"

Whether you believe in the more mystical side of Christianity or not, there's a very important story here. This was a man that I had never met, and who had no idea of my struggle. While everyone else in the room probably thought that the words this man said meant something to me regarding my career, or some leap of faith I'd need to take in my future, all I heard was that the panic that consumed me every flight was not "good enough." What I heard was that it mattered that I was frightened to the point of panic. I feel exposed to say that this was one of my defining faith moments because I felt that it was God speaking directly to me. The greatest compulsion for my faith has always been how personal God is. Having said that, I feel exposed because many many years later, I've struggled to hear or understand the voice of God, and the skepticism of the world has sometimes clouded my faith. I'm telling this story because it was the idea that God cared about me being secretly, silently afraid about something that didn't even bother me anymore that escalated my belief in God's goodness and presence in my life.

Nothing really changed in terms of machinery or the way that I felt physically in a plane, but since that day, I have never panicked at a take-off or landing. The thing that changed was that I felt cared for - I felt acknowledged and understood in a way that made me feel secure. Security isn't always about a physical quality in the environment. Sometimes security is about being assured that you matter, and your feelings are important to someone else. This is the kind of experience that convinces me of God, but it also helps me feel secure in other relationships. When people show me that those little things that matter to me also matter to them, I feel secure to share and I feel secure to trust. My question to myself, having reflected on this experience is this: am I noticing the little things that matter to the people I love? I realise that when life starts getting hectic and there's no slowing down in sight, it's easy to let things slip. I'm guilty of this, and I don't want to be. I am going to try to make a greater effort to let the people in my life know that that little thing that matters to them, matters to me also.