I’m not afraid of flying — I’m afraid of crashing. I have traveled for many years and have been in more hotel rooms than Gideon’s Bible. Usually, I was speaking at churches. That meant cheap hotels and cheap airfares. That means you fly first-class only if you are baggage. What is the deal about first-class anyway? It’s always in the front. Have you ever heard of an airplane backing into a mountain? So I don’t mind not being in first-class.

Flying on a small airline is what really bothers me — the kind where the pilot does everything: loads your baggage, takes the tickets, then puts on his goggles and scarf and welcomes you on his plane. Of course, the airline really has two pilots: Wilbur, your pilot, and his brother, Orville, who is on vacation.

One plane I was on was so small that it had a luggage rack on the back and a bug screen on the front windshield. It was like getting into Christmas wrapping paper. It made me nervous, and I thought about airplane poison: One drop will kill you. I got hold of myself. I tried to think positively. I’m close to the “home office” up there — well, sort of close; the cruising altitude was only 2,200 feet. I thought biblical thoughts: faith, hope and gravity — I mean, charity. I listened for the pilot to give his spiel about cabin depressurization and oxygen masks, but instead I heard Wilbur say, “If this thing drops real fast, there is a Bible under your seat and a copy of Evelyn Woods’ speed-reading course.” I confessed sins I had only thought about doing. I would have buckled my seat belt, but I didn’t have one. At least we had a roll bar on top.

We took off, and it was interesting. The pilot’s wife sent some homemade cookies, and his son showed slides of their vacation. I started to get more comfortable and decided to read. I turned on the reading light, and the plane slowed down. I got nervous again. It was bumpy. We stopped three times en route; two were to ask for directions. We did a little crop-dusting on the way, and finally we landed.

I did get home. Now that I look back on it, that’s what really matters. The takeoffs and landings came out even, and I got home. As I think about life, getting home is also what matters. As God’s children, heaven is our home, and He promises us a happy landing.

Children sum up theology so well. A little boy got to go pick out a puppy for his birthday. Out of a whole litter of puppies, he picked one of the smaller, nondescript dogs. His father, somewhat surprised, asked why he picked that one. He said, “It’s wagging its tail. I want the one with the happy ending.”

Life is like a flight on a small airline. It can be very interesting, but it is also bumpy and sometimes a little scary. Make sure you have the right pilot for a happy landing (or should I say, ending) and enjoy the flight.