The Flu and the Fear of Flying

So, where have we been? Two words: the flu. First me, then the youngest boy, now my biggest boy --er, hubby. (He's really my biggest baby.) None of us got flu shots this year. Maybe next year we will. Its hard to say because last year the boys got them and both still got the flu. One of the two other times I've been as sick as I was this time around was a year in which I had gotten a flu shot. I can only imagine what the flu I didn't get because I got a flu shot that year would have been like. Eh. Enough about that.

One thing I have been pondering (ie. been anxious about) lately is the fact that in two "short" months I will have to board not one, but two or more airplanes to fly me across the continent, then over the Atlantic Ocean, then over a whole bunch of countries, to land me safely in a developing nation. Up until September 11th, 2001, that would have seemed like an exciting adventure. Now the very idea is enough to keep me up at night -- if I let it, of course.

I haven't always been afraid of flying. (Who really is afraid of flying anyway? Aren't we all just afraid of crashing? Aren't people who are afraid of heights really afraid of falling from a high spot?) Growing up I was afraid of airplanes crashing. I don't know why. Too much MacGuyver maybe. In the Second Grade, a friend of mine died in a small plane crash, but that didn't make me afraid to fly. Instead I was afraid/still am afraid of planes crashing from the sky. If a plane flying overhead at night seemed to make too much noise, I would either dive from my bed onto the floor, or just lay there paralyzed with fear until it had passed. These days I pause in whatever I'm doing and listen intently until I know the plane has gone.

Throughout the years I've flown all over the States, overseas to Europe, and south to Costa Rica. (The landing at our stopover in Guatemala was terrifying. I swear we bounced off the ground at least four times.) Prior to 9/11, I didn't really give it too much thought. The reason September 11th changed everything for me was not that planes were hijacked, that so many planes were involved, or even that it all took place in the United States. I think what made the difference was that for the first time I was really made aware of what the people on those planes went through. We heard about every detail and we heard it for months. It personalized it in a way that has haunted me ever since.

I have flown since then. In fact, my husband and I flew to Hawaii the following Spring. (I cried at each take-off and landing.) Each trip, however, is full of panic and anxiety -- and a whole lot of prayer. The recent plane crashes -- both the miraculous and the tragic -- haven't exactly helped my frame of mind regarding our upcoming flights. Neither does the fact that we're leaving our boys behind AND having to prepare a will of sorts as we do so.

I take comfort in God's Word, in passages such as Isaiah 59:1,"Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor His ear too dull to hear," as well as John 14:27, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid." And Hebrews 13:5-6. And others. But I would covet your prayers in this and other anxieties that would rob me of preparing with joy for our daughter's arrival. Oh, and that flu season will end very quickly!