Dichotomy

I wish this were not my arch nemesis.
There is no logic behind my fear. I can't tell you how many times I've been advised that my NASCAR-like driving skills will make my trip to heaven a million times faster than US Air.

I understand that each slight bump that is less than the dip in my driveway will not plunge me to a hurtling death from 35,000 feet.

I know that if it truly is my time to go, I probably won't even know it.

I also know I could step out of my front door tomorrow and get hit by a bus.

Probably the same chances.

But what makes me most upset is not the fact that Kory has to talk me through a panic attack every time I board a plane (althought that MAY be Kory's least favorite thing in the world). Not that I break out in a cold sweat, thereby defeating any chance that my Lady Speed Stick has to work. Not that my hands shake so badly that it's hard for me to hold a coke. Not even that I took two antihistimines and two Excedrine migraine tablets and was still too riled up to sleep.

What I hate most is that I don't get a chance to truly appreciate this.

Why do I not understand that I am one of the few privileged enough in this world to witness this view?

Why do I not recall when I'm close enough to touch them the verses that read that one day I'll see Jesus Himself sitting on these clouds?

When will I sit back, take a deep breath, and just look at where I am, knowing full well that the God Who make this panorama holds me in the palm of His hands?