He met me there.

A bright light flashed out of the corner of my eye. No time to ponder the cause, my breath caught in my throat as the plane dropped in altitude suddenly and overhead lights flickered off and on. Two visibly concerned flight attendants raced to the back of the plane and quickly answered the phone, intently awaiting instruction.

To my right, an elderly lady whom I had reassured earlier when she expressed her fear of flying, grasped my hand as we both started to pray the Lord’s Prayer aloud  – the prayer of my childhood, the one planted in my heart long ago, the only words coming to mind.

The flight attendant’s voiced boomed through the overhead speaker: “Brace for impact. Assume the crash position. Cross your arms and hold onto the seat in front of you. Rest your head between your arms.”

My eyes closed. Time felt suspended.

Shouts from the rear of the plane, “BRACE! BRACE! BRACE” over and over.

He met me there.

Relief washed over me as the familiar thud of tires landing on the runway drowned out the flight attendants’ shouts. Ambulances and fire engines lined the runway, surrounding our plane. The pilot relayed what had happened as we waited to be towed to a gate. An engine had caught fire, explaining the bright flash.

My body shivered. My mind reeled. Shock prevented the tears on the verge of escape. I wouldn’t know the full emotional impact of that day until many years later.

***

Somewhere above the Atlantic, I huddled beneath the poly-blend blue airline blanket, shivering. Teeth chattering and plump, wet tears falling freely, I gulped for air in between deep sobs. Anxiety and fear cascading upon me in pounding waves.

He met me there. 

Right there, in seat 36B, Jesus placed his hands gently, yet securely, on either side of my face and said the only word I needed to hear.

“Jenny.”

I immediately felt His peace descend.

Like Mary, I hadn’t recognized Him there. I had been shrouded in fear, until He spoke my name.

***

Somewhere over the Atlantic, as we journeyed to meet our daughter for the first time, the familiar duo of paranoia and fear crept in. I closed my eyes, picturing His face before me. Soon enough, I see His outstretched hand, beckoning me to grab hold.

He met me there. 

The song, “I Trust in Jesus” became my mantra on that trip. As the plane shuddered under turbulence, I repeated,

I trust in Jesus

My great Deliverer

My strong Defender

The Son of God

When the armed guards populated the confined, crowded baggage claim, I sang silently,

I trust in Jesus

Blessed Redeemer 

My Lord forever

the Holy One

When the daughter of my heart glanced my direction and wailed, her brokenness, confusion and fear evident and overwhelming, I repeated,

I trust in Jesus 

My great Deliverer

My strong Defender

The Son of God

***

On planes, in dirt-floor orphanages, in hospital rooms – in these places where humanity feels most fragile, He steps in and bends low.

He hears my whispered plea in the dark of night, “I’m tired of being afraid.”

The intensity of my anxiety and fear hasn’t diminished. Yet, the strength of my Savior has become magnified. 

I hope to someday walk in the light of absolute freedom, delivered from paralyzing fear. Even if this stronghold is never released, I know the One who holds me with His right hand is ever pursuing, ever loving, ever guiding.

He won’t give up on me.

He will continue to whisper His love.

He will continue to guide my gaze toward Him alone.

As broken and frail as I am, He will continue to call me out into the deep.

He calls me to walk with Him, not because I am brave or strong or capable.

He asks me to trust, not because I am in control.

He does so because He is. He is enough. 

“I don’t want to miss what you have for me because I’m too afraid.”

Every hesitant, shaky, tattered “yes” is a step toward knowing Him more fully.

His heart. His boundless love. His unending compassion. His trustworthy steadiness. His strong, firm hand. His loving arms ready to embrace my weary frame. His Holiness.

His Majesty.