A Father and a Son in a Storm

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Exhausted, nine-year-old Rex* plopped himself over into his dad’s lap and instantly fell asleep. They sat across the aisle from me in an aging 12-passenger Cessna. It would take us from our two-day African safari back to our tourist base in Kenya. Nothing really out of the ordinary – except that we were heading into a terrific thunderstorm. And our pilot looked young enough to be a teenager..

Hard rain and strong winds bounced the tiny aircraft up and down and sideways without mercy. Water was dripping on my lap. Joseph* (Rex’s dad) and I exchanged frequent worried glances

On land, we three had shared a sturdy Land Rover as Robert,* our guide, maneuvered across the plains and forded the creeks. With each animal Robert cited and educated us on, Rex asked, “Dad, can we shoot those here?” (FYI, they were fox hunters in their native Great Britain.) The boy exhibited the unrestrained exuberance of any nine-year-old tracking elephants, hippos, and lions for the first time.

He was as eager to learn about the abundant variety of colorful birds as to learn about the gazelles and giraffes. He frequently borrowed Robert’s guidebook to look up the birds and make sure of his identification. He wanted to glean every detail, reflecting his dad’s deep interest in the wildlife that surrounded us.

After two days of buffalo, crocodiles, hyenas, impala, gazelles, zebras, wart hogs, and more, our safari ended, and Robert drove us to the camp’s dirt landing strip. With great concern, we boarded the little weathered Cessna to battle stormy skies back to Nairobi

Sooner than I expected, we began our descent. I prayed for a safe landing, and my prayer was answered. We touched down with a bump. But not in Nairobi. The storm had not abated, and we were on a dirt strip. Worried and edgy, I jumped to the conclusion that we had been forced to return to our camp. Would I miss my flight?

Fortunately, I was wrong. Several passengers from a second camp boarded. It was another short flight before we headed down again. Camp number three. More passengers. For the third time, little Cessna sputtered up into the storm. Finally, we landed safely on Nairobi tarmac.

Rex slept through it all.

“Praise You, Lord!” I exclaimed. Through the entire experience, even in my tension and fear, I could not ignore the father and son across the aisle. Unbothered by the storm, Rex rested soundly through the ordeal while his father rubbed his back, tousled his hair gently, and smiled with satisfaction.

They were the perfect picture of the bond between a trusting child and a loving father. Rex challenged me as he showed me what it means for a son to totally trust his father.

I confess it is not always an easy truth for me to apply – to trust my heavenly Father at that level.

Quite often, I remind myself by singing one of my favorite choruses, the one based on what the psalmist David sang to his Father God in Psalm 32:7 –

You are my hiding place;

You preserve me from trouble;

You surround me with songs of deliverance.

* Names changed for privacy.

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