| Spiritual Non-Fiction posted February 12, 2020 | Chapters: |
...16 17 -18- 19... 
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When we are in crises do we sense God's presence?
A chapter in the book Blended Reality
Rides of a Lifetime
by JLR
We all have moments when we suddenly realize an event that is just starting to happen that is monumental in proportion could be life-ending. Near misses are everyday common occurrences. Things like that truck losing a load on the freeway, just moments after you had passed it. The speeding car going through a red light and instinct tells you to stop and you did so. Or perhaps, your instincts are on alert when you sense someone is going to "take you on a ride". When moments like these occur, how common is that we turn to some Divine entity and make a small gesture of acknowledgment, today wasn't your last day. Here are just a couple of these moments from my past.
The day started out a very sunny day in mid-June, 1995. Quite usual for the sun to be so full in the San Francisco Bay area in the early morning hours. I was on my weekly "going out of town" business trip with a stopover in San Diego then later in the week to Phoenix.
I settled into my seat on a Boeing 727 and waited the typical 20 minutes for the plane to be boarded and prepared for take-off. As the head flight attendant was making her final announcements, the Captain came onto the intercom and introduced himself, somewhat unusual before the plane departs the gate. The Captain proceeded to introduce himself. He begins, "Good morning folks, I am the First Officer, Sean O'Neill, and in the second seat is my daughter Kelly O'Neill-Conner. Personally, this is an exciting day for me. United Airlines management has arranged this crew assignment for me today. This is my last flight, after 30 years in the cockpit, and this flight is my daughter's maiden voyage as a newly qualified 727 pilot. So, sit back and enjoy your ride down to San Diego this morning. The weather is clear all the way down the coast, and it is a picture-perfect day for flying." To this end, there was rousing applause from the cabin about this unique and poignant moment for the two pilots, father, and daughter.
For those who have not flown in and out of San Francisco International (SFO), the landing strips and cargo areas are built on a man-made body of land that extends out and over the tide flats of the San Francisco Bay. The Bay extends to the south down to Palo Alto and to the north into Napa Valley. The airport has two parallel runways. When you fly into the SFO airport, you typically descend over the Bay, and you can easily see water as glide onto the runway. When you depart SFO, you usually take off to the North, and then the planes take a hard banking turn to the left toward the peninsula and the Pacific Ocean.
We finally push back from the gates, and the plane slowly rolls into the queue to take-off. Today we are lucky, we are number 7 in the line, and we sit back for that moment of moving onto the runway. I could see out the window, as the sound of the hydraulic motors ran the flats downward to create lift. My feet felt the tension as the pilot had set the brakes, and the co-pilot increased the thrust. The three engines came to life with a whirring sound that can be mind-numbing as they scream out the strain to move this 70-ton aircraft into the air.
We start rolling down the runway, gathering of speed, feeling the body of this lumbering aircraft get the lift flowing under the wings. Just feeling the front wheels start to lose the grip on terra-firma, the pilot suddenly, drastically cut the engines off and lunges hard on the brakes. Everyone was thrown forward with a jolt, and the unexpected forces were straining everyone against the seatbelts. For the first time over too many flights to even begin to count, I grabbed hold of the armrests and white-knuckled my grip, with the thought, "My God, is this how its going end?" The plane then made a strained, but noticeable left turn with what seemed a full force of lift-off speed onto a side runway and then came to a final stop moments later.
Everyone was quite visibly shaken and was looking deer eyed at one another at what was an obvious very close call to something not ordinary. The pilot came onto the intercom several moments later. I sensed the tension in this voice, as he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am so deeply sorry for this event that just took place. Just at our rotation speed for lift-off, a 747 heavy came directly into our takeoff air space, and we had to abort our take-off to avoid a collision." The inbound flight from Japan was in the wrong landing alignment, and ATC did not catch this incoming flight error on their approach until the very final seconds."
"This is an extremely unique event," he continued. "we will circle back around and get you headed to San Diego at our earliest opportunity."
I know that I was not alone with the distinct awareness that God was in that cockpit that day!
My other ride stays memorable every time I look at the scars on both of my legs. At the time of this incident, I was 15 years of age. As was often the case when I was done with my chores, I was out of the house and often riding an old single gear bicycle with a well-worn saddle seat.
It was a Saturday in mid-Summer. I frequently took a long and rigorous ride up to Mount Saint Michaels situated high on a bluff overlooking northeastern Spokane. Mount St. Michael had been a landmark in the Pacific Northwest for more than eighty years. From 1916 through the early 1980s, it served as a training ground for candidates for the Catholic priesthood. The ride up the winding 17% grade to Saint Michael's was a physical effort, leaving me thirsting for a refreshing drink of water from the spring at the grotto on the grounds. I spent an hour or so sitting at various outcroppings overlooking the vastness of Spokane below. As I began my descent down the winding paved road, I was aware of the gathering of speed as I approached some of the tighter switchbacks that had to be navigated going down. I thought I was in control of my downward pace until I came to one of the more steep and tighter turns, when suddenly, without any forewarning, the front wheel of the bike simply snapped, literally, into several pieces. The prongs holding the front wheel embedding right into the soft pavement and threw me onto the roadbed head over heels. Then rolling multiple times right off the road over the edge down a 20' embankment, with the wind knocked out of me and road rash from knee to foot and shoulder to fingers. I lay dazed for several minutes raging in pain. Once I got my wits about me, I started feeling around for any protruding bones or evidence of blood soaking the ground. Finding none, I look up skyward and literally said, "Thank you, God! I am still alive and in one piece."
Getting myself and the mangled bicycle back home is to be another story.
The day started out a very sunny day in mid-June, 1995. Quite usual for the sun to be so full in the San Francisco Bay area in the early morning hours. I was on my weekly "going out of town" business trip with a stopover in San Diego then later in the week to Phoenix.
I settled into my seat on a Boeing 727 and waited the typical 20 minutes for the plane to be boarded and prepared for take-off. As the head flight attendant was making her final announcements, the Captain came onto the intercom and introduced himself, somewhat unusual before the plane departs the gate. The Captain proceeded to introduce himself. He begins, "Good morning folks, I am the First Officer, Sean O'Neill, and in the second seat is my daughter Kelly O'Neill-Conner. Personally, this is an exciting day for me. United Airlines management has arranged this crew assignment for me today. This is my last flight, after 30 years in the cockpit, and this flight is my daughter's maiden voyage as a newly qualified 727 pilot. So, sit back and enjoy your ride down to San Diego this morning. The weather is clear all the way down the coast, and it is a picture-perfect day for flying." To this end, there was rousing applause from the cabin about this unique and poignant moment for the two pilots, father, and daughter.
For those who have not flown in and out of San Francisco International (SFO), the landing strips and cargo areas are built on a man-made body of land that extends out and over the tide flats of the San Francisco Bay. The Bay extends to the south down to Palo Alto and to the north into Napa Valley. The airport has two parallel runways. When you fly into the SFO airport, you typically descend over the Bay, and you can easily see water as glide onto the runway. When you depart SFO, you usually take off to the North, and then the planes take a hard banking turn to the left toward the peninsula and the Pacific Ocean.
We finally push back from the gates, and the plane slowly rolls into the queue to take-off. Today we are lucky, we are number 7 in the line, and we sit back for that moment of moving onto the runway. I could see out the window, as the sound of the hydraulic motors ran the flats downward to create lift. My feet felt the tension as the pilot had set the brakes, and the co-pilot increased the thrust. The three engines came to life with a whirring sound that can be mind-numbing as they scream out the strain to move this 70-ton aircraft into the air.
We start rolling down the runway, gathering of speed, feeling the body of this lumbering aircraft get the lift flowing under the wings. Just feeling the front wheels start to lose the grip on terra-firma, the pilot suddenly, drastically cut the engines off and lunges hard on the brakes. Everyone was thrown forward with a jolt, and the unexpected forces were straining everyone against the seatbelts. For the first time over too many flights to even begin to count, I grabbed hold of the armrests and white-knuckled my grip, with the thought, "My God, is this how its going end?" The plane then made a strained, but noticeable left turn with what seemed a full force of lift-off speed onto a side runway and then came to a final stop moments later.
Everyone was quite visibly shaken and was looking deer eyed at one another at what was an obvious very close call to something not ordinary. The pilot came onto the intercom several moments later. I sensed the tension in this voice, as he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am so deeply sorry for this event that just took place. Just at our rotation speed for lift-off, a 747 heavy came directly into our takeoff air space, and we had to abort our take-off to avoid a collision." The inbound flight from Japan was in the wrong landing alignment, and ATC did not catch this incoming flight error on their approach until the very final seconds."
"This is an extremely unique event," he continued. "we will circle back around and get you headed to San Diego at our earliest opportunity."
I know that I was not alone with the distinct awareness that God was in that cockpit that day!
My other ride stays memorable every time I look at the scars on both of my legs. At the time of this incident, I was 15 years of age. As was often the case when I was done with my chores, I was out of the house and often riding an old single gear bicycle with a well-worn saddle seat.
It was a Saturday in mid-Summer. I frequently took a long and rigorous ride up to Mount Saint Michaels situated high on a bluff overlooking northeastern Spokane. Mount St. Michael had been a landmark in the Pacific Northwest for more than eighty years. From 1916 through the early 1980s, it served as a training ground for candidates for the Catholic priesthood. The ride up the winding 17% grade to Saint Michael's was a physical effort, leaving me thirsting for a refreshing drink of water from the spring at the grotto on the grounds. I spent an hour or so sitting at various outcroppings overlooking the vastness of Spokane below. As I began my descent down the winding paved road, I was aware of the gathering of speed as I approached some of the tighter switchbacks that had to be navigated going down. I thought I was in control of my downward pace until I came to one of the more steep and tighter turns, when suddenly, without any forewarning, the front wheel of the bike simply snapped, literally, into several pieces. The prongs holding the front wheel embedding right into the soft pavement and threw me onto the roadbed head over heels. Then rolling multiple times right off the road over the edge down a 20' embankment, with the wind knocked out of me and road rash from knee to foot and shoulder to fingers. I lay dazed for several minutes raging in pain. Once I got my wits about me, I started feeling around for any protruding bones or evidence of blood soaking the ground. Finding none, I look up skyward and literally said, "Thank you, God! I am still alive and in one piece."
Getting myself and the mangled bicycle back home is to be another story.
Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
True life events. God moments that make the mystery of life more poignant
Thanks for the use of The Mercy Seat by jgrace on FanArtReview.com
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