Mile 2: Embodied Yet Unseen

Beloved People of God,

I boarded the little Cessna on the hot tarmac of the Yaoundé international airport. I had just received the grace of the customs and border patrol I surely didn’t deserve. I’d been an illegal alien in Cameroon for several months, assuming—as most naïve teenagers are wont to do—the school would keep my papers in order. After a few hours, however, the man behind the desk forgave me. He wiped away my debt and stamped my passport, releasing me. He didn’t even block me from renewing my visa to finish my junior year of high school.

Remarkably, the plane waited for me. The other passengers waited patiently. The pilot watched the clock but refused to leave until the last possible minute. Once I was released, I joined them as the propellor kicked to life and the wheels began to roll. As everyone else, including the pilot, were more than ready to go, there was only one seat left: the co-pilot’s chair. As the little plane took off, climbing into the sky, I gained a vantage point I’d never experienced before. I’ve flown in countless planes. I’ve even been in the cockpit of several planes over the years. But never had I faced the oncoming skies from the front row! The view before me wasn’t a sideways glance oval. It was a panorama sweeping across my full field of vision! And that is where the trouble began.

As we flew toward the clouds, the logical part of my brain said, “Nothing to worry about here. Clouds are just coalescing drops of water gliding around the atmosphere,” but my less logical side—the I’ve-watched-too-many-Wile-E-Coyote-cartoons side—was sounding off alarm bells! I asked the pilot through the headset if we should be concerned. He wasn’t worried at all. He’d flown headlong into clouds before. I’ll be honest. I heard him but I still struggled to really believe his testimony! I was like Cleopas on the road to Emmaus, having heard the witness of the women and the apostles, but still struggling to discern what it all meant. We’ve all been there. We’ll all be there again. The question becomes: will we keep moving?

For His Name’s Sake,

Brett