We moved from the city to a small town about seventy miles away to start a flying business.
My husband, Chuck, taught flying and did charter work in the area. We were excited to fit into our new hometown and be an asset to the community.
It’s hard starting a new business no matter where you live. It’s a lot of work and sacrifices, and some you never considered or imagined.
We were the only fixed base operation in town and didn’t have competition, although there were a few local pilots who occasionally would cause us problems.
Even after five years of living there, they considered us as outsiders. No matter how we tried, things didn’t get better.
One pilot who rented our planes told us he had lived there for over twenty years, and they still considered him an outsider.
One afternoon, Chuck and a student pilot were pre-flighting the plane to go flying and suddenly he came rushing into the door and said, “There’s been a plane crash, we’re going over there.”
He and the student took off in our pickup and headed to where the smoke was coming from.
The plane engine seizes up. The pilot tried to make it back to the airport, then realized they wouldn’t make it. He would have to make a forced landing in an empty field close by.
The pilot turned the plane to line up with the field to land. He didn’t see the power and telephone poles in the direct line of the turn.
The wing hit the pole close to the fuselage and ruptured the fuel tank, snapping off the poles, stretching the attached wires as the momentum of the plane dragged them behind the plane.
Immediately, it burst into a ball of fire, and black smoke shot upward.
We lived at the airport and from our back door, we could see the smoke and knew it was bad. When Chuck rushed to the crash site, he was afraid it would be deadly.
Greg and I stood in the bad door, watching the smoke roll skyward. I knew the plane and the men in it.
They were a couple of our adversaries.
I knew I needed to pray, but for a split second, it tempted me to look the other way.
God understood my bruised heart and was giving me a chance to ask for a miracle for the men.
I took my little son by the hand, and we walked into the living room, and I told him we had to pray for the men in the plane. We got on our knees and each prayed for the safety of the men.
When we finished, I hoped my prayer was good. I remember saying, “The way I feel Lord, I’m not sure you heard me, but I know you heard Greg. Thank you.”
I know my little son didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation, but he earnestly prayed.
Chuck got to the site maybe five or ten minutes after it happened. When they reached the field, the plane was a skeleton. The fire was so hot it melted the aluminum and the black smoke worsened.
When Chuck got to the crash, the men had disappeared.
At the time of the crash, a man driving on the road next to the field saw the accident, picked the men up, and rushed them to the hospital.
It was a miracle they could physically get out of that small plane, let alone walk.
What are the odds?
Even more amazing, they weren’t hurt!
Again, what are the odds? God’s odds. I didn’t want those men to hurt, or worse, die, but I did struggle at the moment, to surrender to what I knew what God wanted me to do. I was grateful and praised the Lord for His Mercy.
I believed God answered Greg’s prayer that day, but I also believe He honored my prayer through my obedience to His word. I passed the test.
Matthew 5:44 “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;”
The take away: Praying is an attitude of the heart. Jesus prayed for his enemies.