After introducing herself, the main pilot did something unforeseen—she stepped away from the cockpit and took a seat in the front passenger row. It was then I saw the young pilot who would actually be flying the plane. She was not much older than me, maybe even younger. At first, I assumed she had been training for this role for some time and was ready to take control under the watchful eye of her experienced mentor. But the moment she took the pilot’s seat, the reality of the situation hit me.

As the young pilot prepared for takeoff, a stark contrast to her calm demeanor became apparent. There were obstacles on the runway—airport vehicles, staff, and equipment—all still moving along the take-off strip right in front of us. For some reason, these things had not been cleared out of the way before take-off, yet we started moving anyway, the plane rolling forward despite the hazards in our path. I could feel the tension as the airplane jerked and swerved from side to side, trying to avoid the slow-moving objects on the ground. In that moment, I couldn’t help but pray for protection, asking my Heavenly Father to guide both pilots through the rough waters ahead.

And rough they were! As the plane broke through the atmosphere, rain pounded against the windshield like a barrage of bullets. We were encountering a violent storm! The young pilot, once confident, now appeared to be struggling, beads of sweat forming at the corners of her temples. Her grip on the controls tightened, but the storm was relentless. The winds hurled against the atmosphere and the deep, blue ocean continued to thrash with vigor just beneath us. It felt as though the very forces of nature were trying to tear us apart.

The tension in the cockpit grew. The main pilot, though now standing behind her mentee, did not intervene. She asked the young pilot what was happening, but her words seemed lost in the chaos. The plane continued to fight against the storm, but the young pilot was growing more frantic, and the mentor simply watched—waiting, guiding, but never taking over. And then, as if the storm had reached its boiling point, we were attacked by the most wild, flurry of winds, and angry ocean water reached up as giant hands pulling and beckoning the aircraft to fall into its mysterious deep below. I was praying out to God, but our sky vessel could not seem to resist temptation. Finally giving into this battle, the aircraft plummeted into the cold, roaring waves…

We crashed into the water, the front of the plane angling downward, half-submerged in the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the fuselage was deafening. And yet, in a strange way, there was a quietness, a stillness that enveloped the cabin. The windows remained intact, every passenger still in their seat, the plane seemed suspended in time, and despite the chaos outside, there was an eerie peace inside— almost like a giant pause. No one seemed to know what to do. Fear and uncertainty gripped us all. The young pilot, paralyzed by her fear, was no longer attempting to regain control. The mentor, standing behind her, offered no solution. The plane just hung there, stuck in an in-between space, waiting for something– anything to break the silence.

It became clear to me that this wasn’t just about a plane ride. This was about the choices we face in life—the choice to act in the face of fear, to rise up when everything feels like it’s crashing down, to be bold and take the reins when the journey seems uncertain. The young pilot had to make a choice. She could either succumb to the fear, or she could step into her potential and break free from every doubt, limiting belief, and insecurity holding her back.

And that’s when I stood up.