Something I regularly practice whether in a plane or car, is dying--I know it may sound morbid, perhaps it is, but it blesses my soul.
I'm flying at 36,000 feet and somehow the plane's wing starts tipping and--KA-BOW!--the right propeller-engine thing blows out. Galeforce winds send it straight for my section: 31D. The young woman two seats down (that gave me the dirty look) is gone, however, I still hold on.
The jet's nose plunges, breathing heavy negative space, we're traveling too fast for words: cloud, tower, tree--gone. Am I ready for that? I ask.
Can I let go of my dreams, my will...I think I can.
The only thing that matters about me in the moments before I cease, is my eternal soul. Every funny joke I ever made, every dollar I ever earned will fade from relevance.
All I have in that breath are the two things that have ever mattered: my God and my soul.
May our time on this earth be spent with a disproportionate focus on both.
In Him,
Jean-Marc
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