Me: I have something for y’all!
Prodigal: Shoot
Me: When you run alone; it’s called a race. When you run with God, it’s called grace.
This is from Jack Armstrong
Things weren’t going as I had expected that blustery March night in 1972 over Arkansas.
I was flying a single-engine four-seat Cherokee 180 from Chicago for delivery to Houston and had planned to reach Shreveport, Louisiana, that night. But as I passed over Fort Smith, Arkansas, I recomputed my ground speed and found that I was pushing into a head wind of much greater velocity than had been forecast. That meant I would not have enough fuel to reach Shreveport.
It was 8:00pm. A light rain beat against my windshield like scatter shot and a heavy overcast blocked out any moonlight. Even at my assigned altitude of seven thousand feet, I couldn’t see a thing; it was pitch black outside my cockpit windows. Instrument weather.
No problem, though. Over my radio I requested clearance to land at nearby Texarkana, Arkansas.
Texarkana approach control came on clear: “Okay, Cherokee seven-nine-four-eight-n, descend and maintain two thousand feet; you are cleared for an instrument approach to the airport.”
I settled back. I enjoyed these flights. Ever since I got out of the Navy in 1971, flying had been my main goal in life. And I was doing all right with it. I figured I could take care of myself.
I finished my landing check list and, by instrument check, found my position to be about thirty miles north-northwest of the Texarkana airport. I knew that a thick forest of pine trees and rolling hills were beneath me.
Suddenly my engine coughed, quit..started…and quit again! What was wrong? Frantically I checked instruments. There was plenty of fuel. I pushed controls, checked again. Nothing. A cold fear seized me.
Now only wind noise filled the cockpit as my 2450-pound plane began its inexorable drop to earth. I sat helpless at the dead controls as my ship hurtled into the total blackness. Terror shot through me as I thought of smashing into the thick pines that would tear my ship to shreds.
I began a series of emergency measures. I radioed a Mayday distress call to the air controller, advising him of my situation. Then I set the Cherokee into a glide speed of eighty miles an hour, extended-ten degree flaps, and noted that we were dropping 1100 feet per minute. That meant less than two minutes before we could crash. I still could not see anything outside the windows.
I then did the only other thing I could do. “O Lord Jesus,” I prayed, “into Your hands I come.”
Suddenly, unbelievably, a complete peace filled the cabin Fear left me In its place I felt a strange presence. Words seemed to fill my mind–words of calm and reassurance. Everything is going to be all right. Look off your left wing.
Then, through a clear spot in the murky skies, I saw a light from a house porch. Instinctively I swung the plane toward it. Again the Voice in my mind. Now look below to your right.
When I looked, I saw the headlights of two cars coming toward me.
Head directly for those two cars; everything is going to be all right. The deep indescribable feeling of peace and beauty intensified.
I kept heading toward the headlights; they were the only thing I could see outside the cockpit. The plane shuddered from wind gusts as we silently sped downward. I switched on my landing lights and continued on.
Whoosh! I passed about thirty feet over the first car and was immediately engulfed by tall dark trees racing close by on both sides. I sensed I was lined up with the highway, but I seemed to by flying into a tunnel.
The Voice kept assuring me. Everything will be all right.
Now the second car was facing me head-on and I felt sure we’d collide. I tried to turn the plane, but my hands and legs would not respond.
Keep heading for that car, continued the soft, soothing Voice. Everything is going to be all right.
My air speed had dropped drastically; the red stall light was frantically indicating that there wasn’t enough air flow over my wings to maintain a safe glide.
Then I felt an impulse to do the strangest thing. Despite my critically low air speed, I was suddenly prompted to pull back on the controls, raising the plane’s nose into a high attitude so that the lighter tail section would hit the oncoming car first. Ordinarily such a maneuver would lead to a total stall and crash. I waited for the impact.
There was none. Instead, the highway pavement appeared in my landing lights, rising steeply. I was heading uphill! But because of my high nose attitude, the plane set down on the concrete in a perfect three-point landing. I rolled to the top of the hill and began using my brakes. There at the side of the highway was a roadside cafe, its neon sign saying “Penney’s Cafe” glowing. I kept using the brakes, rolled into the cafe’s parking lot and stopped.
Suddenly the immensity of the incredible thing that had happened overwhelmed me. All I could do was sit there thanking God.
Light flooded the parking lot as the cafe door opened and a man walked toward me. “How did you get here?” he asked in astonishment.
“A miracle of God,” I said in a chocked voice.
I asked the man to check down the road; I was worried about the people I might have run off the highway. After ten minutes he came back. He had found no one and did not recall seeing any cars earlier.
Were those lights real, I wondered, or had the Lord put them there just for me? All I know is that if I had not lifted my plane’s nose to avoid the second car, I certainly would have slammed into the inclined highway. My lights did not shine far enough for me to react to landing uphill. The impact probably would have caused the plane to explode, since I had about fifteen gallons of fuel left in the wing tanks.
There was not a scratch on the plane. The air traffic controllers in Texarkana were amazed to find me alive. What had caused the engine to quit? A clogged fuel line.
I learned that the road I had landed on was U.S. Highway 71. So that night after I checked into a motel, just out of curiosity I picked up the Bible in my room and turned to the 71st Psalm. It began, “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust. Let me never be put to confusion….”
I put the book down and looked out the window. The dark mist was falling and the sky was still black. But I knew that above the overcast the stars were still shining, though I couldn’t see them. And now I knew, more certainly than ever before, that the Lord of Heaven was there as well.
And I besought the LORD at that time, saying, Deuteronomy 3:23 (KJV)
Jennifer Van Allen
www.theprodigalpig.com
www.faithincounseling.org
