It was one of those rides you don’t soon forget. The plane was shaking and shimmying and bumping in new and alarming ways – and I hadn’t seen a flight attendant since take off. The “fasten seat belt” sign was still glowing overhead and the passengers who’d resolutely affixed their headphones upon boarding to avoid background noise or unwanted conversation were removing them, in hopes of hearing a reassuring announcement from the cockpit.

Those of us who were trying to look nonchalant (“I’m a seasoned traveler; this is nothing unusual.”) were failing…miserably.

I could see nothing outside the window to either confirm or deny that we were in distress. Truth told, I wouldn’t even know what to look for.

The announcement that finally came was not the one I was hoping for. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has advised that we are experiencing some temporary turbulence. He will remove the fasten seat belt sign when it is safe to do so.”

Duh. No enlightening information there. What I was anticipating was an explanation as to what sort of conditions were producing a ride that made a 737 feel like a two-man fishing boat. And how long they might last.

The next word from up front was no better: “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be suspending beverage service temporarily. When service resumes, no hot beverages will be served. Please remain in your seats until the captain has turned off the fasten-seat-belt sign, and do not open the overhead bins.”

I didn’t care about beverage service. And I had nothing stowed in the overhead bin. I wanted to know one thing, and one thing only: what does the captain think of my situation?

What does he have to say about the weather, his ability to navigate safely through it, and its impact on our intended arrival time?

What is his take on the storm?

I have no special power over large airplanes, or the winds that buffet them. I have no skill in flight control or ability to predict the impact of a storm.

But I know my Captain. And when my journey is perilous and my safety is in doubt, I only want to hear from Him. What does He think of my situation? What does He see that I cannot? How will he either lift me over the storm, steer me around it, or bear me safely through it?

It’s His voice I’m waiting for – and His steady, faithful, confident words I need to hear. Because He’s sovereign over turbulence.

But as they were sailing along He fell asleep; and a fierce gale of wind descended upon the lake, and they began to be swamped and in danger. And they came to Him and woke Him up, saying, “Master, Master, we are perishing!” And being aroused, He rebuked the wind and the surging waves, and they stopped, and it became calm. (Luke 8:23 – 24, NASB)

© Leigh McLeroy 2004