Divine Plagiarism

Learning to fly is one of the most fascinating experiences I know of. Imagine being transported back to infancy while keeping your mind and will intact. Knowing what you know now, think of how it would feel to learn to walk all over again. Pilot training, of course, is hardly the only professional school out there. Law School is hard, I have no doubt. But it is different. You can take your pre-law degree and apply it directly to Torts class. Though much more intense, in some way it is still more of the same. It is not that degrees or academic work cannot be applied to pilot training. Take our class of eager, well-educated aspiring walkers. One man has a degree in developmental psych. He understands something of the mechanics of his own brain as he learns to walk; he gains a unique perspective on the endeavor, but learning to walk is still fundamentally different from reading a textbook on cognition. So the Aeronautical Engineer understands something about why he needs to add more power as he flies slower and the Art major understands something about making the landing picture ‘look right.’ In order to learn to fly, though, both the engineer and the artist have to step entirely outside of their comfort zone when they strap themselves into an aircraft.

The uniqueness of pilot training is captured in the Initial Solo. After flying six or seven rides with an instructor, the student pilot takes the aircraft up on their own. It is a tremendously significant ride, but you really don’t learn much airmanship on your solo. Instead, you discover how much you already know. And how much you still don’t know. It has something to do with the learning process, I think. You try something. It doesn’t work out. You think about what went wrong, your instructor demonstrates how do to it right, and you try it again until your instructor is satisfied. He knows you know how to perform the maneuver, and he signs you off on it. So you know how to do it, but you don’t really know that you know until you go and do it yourself. This is why we solo. Your instructor knows you can fly, but you don’t really know yourself until you go out and do it.

There is something of an Instructor Pilot in God, I think. He keeps bringing us back to the same situation until we follow His instruction. He demonstrates through the Word (God-breathed or God breathing,) and He asks us to repeat the maneuver until we get it right. Once He is satisfied that we know what to do, He places us back in the situation one more time to prove to ourselves that we know what to do. He signs us off, puts His wings on our chest, and gives us the keys.

So at Urbana, I find myself back in Pensacola. Longest ride back home in recent memory. I swear I heard Him talking, but I could not respond. I remember being frozen, completely unable to act. I hear the call, and my hand is frozen to my sword. The pastor was right. My other friends were right. Be a man. Act. But I could not. Fell on my face, crashed and burned. I never ended up figuring it out. Not that I wrote it off, far from it. I gave it up. ‘I don’t know the answer, God, but You do. And I’m okay with that.’

I guess I had thought that was the end of that lesson. After all, He never really brought it back up. Until now. And I start to realize how much I have learned.

He shows me one critical fact. There is a difference between being reconciled and having all my deep prayers answered. This is a possibility I had not really considered: a reconciliation without an ending. A world where we were not best buddies, but one where we were okay with each other. Where we say all the things that needed to be said and never were, where we face each other with honor and answer each other with respect. Where I keep praying, and I respect her will and her ‘no.’ Where she respects my prayers and my heart, where we live our entirely separate lives. A world with or without terms of further interaction, but a world at peace.

There is something in me that wanted to win. The ‘hasta el fin’ part, I think. That part of me couldn’t quite wrap itself around the concept of a ‘peace with honor.’ It wouldn’t have been the first time that phrase was used to describe ‘giving up.‘ It doesn’t have to mean that though. Reconciliation does not have to mean the end of the story. Only the end of a chapter.

Desire will lead us home. I still believe that. I will not stop praying halfway. So in any world, reconciled or not, I will keep praying until He answers my original prayer, ‘change my heart or change hers.’ I will not act on that prayer until He answers it, clearly and unequivocally. But I have another prayer now. Reconciliation. I know that much is right, at least. I do not know if He desires that C. and I somehow end up together. But I do know, for absolutely certain, that He desires reconciliation between His children, C. and I included. Therefore, I will pursue reconciliation, insofar as it concerns me and insofar as I am able. If that involves action, so be it. I am accountable. I will pursue her still in my prayers, but I will work to end the war between us.

I have always been far too concerned with outcomes. I suppose it is only natural, given my profession. Analyze the situation. Take the proper action. Anticipate courses of action, choose the most probable effective path. But this is not the math of God. Outcomes were never the question. Only obedience. I was never held to account for how things turned out, only for how well I followed Him. This was the lesson from Pensacola. Quit running the numbers, just do what He says. Let Him be God. He runs the universe, not me.

Sometimes He takes us back to that exact same place where we failed. He teaches us, surrounds us with support, speaks to us a bit more clearly, and then gives us another shot at it. So in the middle of Urbana, I find myself back at Pensacola. Talking to a spiritual mentor who understood the situation, I felt as if God was telling me to actively seek reconciliation with her. I heard it in the messages, in the praise songs, the same nudge from five different directions. I didn’t even want to hear it. I didn’t want to go back to Pensacola. I was fine with my prayers, fine not talking to her, okay with waiting on a miracle. I was comfortable. I did not want to be moved. The same counter-argument remained. If I tried talk to her, she would most likely hate me, and if she says anything at all, it would be just be more long knives and accusations. But I had learned something from Pensacola: none of that mattered at all.

I am not responsible for her actions, nor for her heart, nor for her feelings toward me. None of those things are my responsibility, and none of them change my duty to seek reconciliation insofar as I am able. Realizing this, I seek wisdom. I feel as if I should write her, so I pray, ‘God, if this thought is from you, bring it back to me tomorrow. If not, may I forget it tonight. I yield it to you.’ I pray that one day, the thought comes to me the next day. And I pray it again that day, and it comes to me the third day. That day, I met with another mutual mentor, a man I respect deeply. By this time, I am willing to speak to him openly about the story, asking his advice. I tell him the situation, and that I am planning on messaging her, asking his advice. He concurs. So I send it. Please note that I am not citing cosmic, Gideon-style coincidences to justify my actions, clearly there were none of those here. But I do not need a Gideon-style sign to tell me to do what is already in Scripture. There is nothing about getting the girl you want in Scripture. There is lots about a believer’s duty to reconcile, insofar as they can. The question was never so much the authorization, but finding the strength. I found it in my mentors and I found it over those three days. I thank Him for providing me the strength and support to do what I should have done months ago. I’m glad I got to give it a second shot.

I asked her if she would honor me by meeting with me for reconciliation before we took communion on Sunday. I am not sure if she was even there. I never heard back. But that was never the point. Sending the message, I felt as if I had done what I was supposed to do. I felt like I had returned to Pensacola, and done things right. Initial solo with the lessons He had taught me. There’s no way I would have realized how much I learned without being placed in a position where I had to use that knowledge. I obeyed, I let Him sort out the consequences. I have no idea whether she even received the message, nor how she took it if she did. You know what? It doesn’t matter. That is between her and God. All I know is that I did as I was told. That’s really all I needed to know, anyways. Well, I guess I know one other thing. I took Communion that Sunday with a clean conscience.