The airplane cabin was almost completely quiet, except for the occasional clicking of the flight attendant’s heels, responding to a passenger’s call for hot tea or a pillow. Night had fallen across the vast expanse of sky somewhere between London and Johannesburg – at whatever point along that trajectory we were. And as my husband finished the last sip from his coffee and leaned back against the headrest, I turned to gaze out the window at the big, velvety darkness, studded everywhere with tiny sequins of starlight. South Africa, a land I visited only in imagination, would be alive under my feet by morning.
But for now, I was just enjoying this – nearly 20 hours of flying time. The chance to breathe long and deeply. To not be needed. To not be reachable. Just to…be…and to not be. All at the same time.
So I was lost in the silence and beautiful darkness as our plane continued to rise toward its cruising altitude.
And then, it happened.
At 3:48 a.m.
We burst through a layer of thick clouds and we were suddenly washed in the full, stark sunlight of daytime.
What only moments before had been a black ocean of ink instantaneously erupted into a stream of sunlight on the other side of all that cloud cover, glinting off the plane’s wingtips and blinding me with its striking brilliance. I instinctively raised a hand to cover my eyes, turning away while retinas and pupils busily calibrated their adjustments. People – sleeping people – began audibly stirring and grimacing, flicking down the shades on their oval windows, reaching for sleep masks to shield themselves from the invasion of light.
And that’s when I noticed it: the time display on a digital clock near the front of the plane that was still set to the time zone of our departure city. The full irony of the scene playing out before me registered slowly at first, and then picked up speed as the Holy Spirit did His work in me.
3:48 a.m.
The middle of the night.
How backwards.
We were in full sunlight here…during some of the darkest hours of night there.
And as clearly as ever, I heard the voice of God whispering in my spirit, reminding me of something that’s actually an every-night truth, as readily available on the ground as it is at 30,000 feet…
Even the darkness is not dark to you, and the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to you. (Ps. 139:12, NASB)
Turns out, even the darkest hours of the night have a bright side, after all.
Every single night of your life contains a 3:48 a.m. A very dark one, at that. And hopefully the one that awaits you tonight could jump up and down as hard as it wanted and still not budge you from a deep sleep. But I imagine the 3:48 marker on your clock has also backlit some other nights when you’ve not been sleeping at all. You counted sheep, watched a sitcom, and checked a few e-mails in hopes of inducing drowsiness. But instead, you just ended up staring into the pitch-black darkness. Your problems seem heavier at that hour. Your worries won’t sit still. Regrets that often go unnoticed behind your daily routine and responsibilities come scampering out of their hiding places to remind you they’re still very much around.
But as I learned high above the Dark Continent that one unusual night, it’s not dark everywhere at 3:48 a.m. In fact, where God lives, it’s not dark…ever. I guess the way you see that hour just depends on the perspective you have when taking it in.
This is an excerpt from God Is Able by Priscilla Shirer. Copyright ©2013 by Priscilla Shirer. Published by B&H Publishing Group. Reprinted and used by permission.
