Clouds really like mountains—or maybe mountains really like clouds. Either way, the ceiling lowered the closer I flew to the badlands. A dark grey layer pressed down, obscuring all peaks and ridges. I dared not climb into the murk above. Soft, wispy grey hid solid granite. It was too far to go around to the left or right. Thick forest punctuated by a rock-strewn river set the lower limit. A narrow canyon offered the only way through the rock wall.
I configured the airplane for terrain flying by slowing to 80 knots and setting the flaps at 20°. Lower speed meant a tighter turning radius. Extending partial flaps gave more margin above stall speed. It also lowered the nose for a better view of what lay ahead. Setup like this, the airplane would immediately climb if I added any power, not that that was an option now.
The route was simple: ‘Don’t fly into anything hard. And, oh yeah, keep the back door open.’ I kept the right wing tip a few feet from the steep rock wall to follow the canyon’s winding contour. That gave me a clear view and maximum room on the left in case I had to turn back for a quick exit.
Illusions abounded in the twisty channels traversing these mountains. No horizon provided a climb or descent reference, so I nailed my chosen altitude and checked it every scan—flight instruments, power gauges, and cliffs outside. Flight instruments, power gauges, and cliffs outside. Repeat. Again. And again. And again.
Everything happened fast in there. On my right, cragged and creviced walls rushed past. Just below, jutting rocks and trees, zipped behind. Only speed prevented their hungry teeth from pulling me into the cascading torrent. But even though the speed exhilarated me, the intense concentration slowed time to a crawl. No other thought intervened; no other thought mattered. Threading the labyrinth became all there was.
Later, on another day, a clear day, I climbed above the mountains into an entirely different context. I could see for miles and flew a straight course directly to my destination.
Those flights reminded me of the times I’ve been like that. Times when I focused so hard on what I needed, say money to cover a sudden medical need, that my prayers channeled a deep groove down into that context. That need was all I could see, all I could think about. It was all there was.
Then I remembered God knew that need, and was glad I looked to him to meet it. His Holy Spirit was already on the way to take care of it. Then, he asked if I could consider his context to see his agenda for my day. Turned out that when I climbed up through the fog of my own plan, I could see my number one task for that day was to call my sister.
So, what happened the last time you discovered your first priority wasn’t his, but then acted?
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