Flight to Heaven Read online

  Within days I was standing in the college chapel service, giving my testimony again. I shared my renewed faith in God’s Word, and the importance of patience and long-suffering with faith in prayer. After sharing my experience, Rev. Reuben Welch anointed me with oil and prayed for me while others prayed for the bones in my ankle to be restored.

  I invited any who were interested to return the next morning to Dr. Graham’s office for another opportunity to see a miracle. I explained to them that my faith had been put to the test. “Come and see the miracle!” I announced to the students in the chapel. This time, the well-worn green Cadillac and a second car made their way to Burbank, loaded with high-strung Christian students who believed in a miracle-working God.

  Before our group got out of the car, we had a word of prayer and thanked God for what He had already done. The last episode had been a test of my faith. I had clearly flunked. But now I knew where I had made my mistake. Most people have heard the phrase “seeing is believing.” But according to the Bible I had now learned that “believing is seeing.” Now was the time for what I believed would become something we could all see.

  I thought I finally understood. I was certain I had uncovered the keys to finding the will of God—by knowing the promises in the Word of God. Little did I know that the most important lessons about God and His will lay just ahead of me. What I was to learn about myself in the process would not only surprise me but would change me forever.

  “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”—Hebrews 11:1

  17

  LOSING LIFE TO FIND IT

  Once again in Dr. Graham’s office, we went through the same procedures. The X rays were taken, and as before, we gathered around the viewing screen. I explained to the doctor briefly what had gone wrong the last time. I told him how I had failed to realize that my faith must be in the promises of God and not in circumstances. We held hands and prayed, thanking God for His love and for His Word.

  Dr. Graham placed the negatives on the screen. On this occasion, it took the long-suffering doctor even longer to speak.

  Finally, he turned to me and revealed his findings. “Dale, I’m sorry.” He was clearly struggling. “Not only is there no progress, but now we have waited too long. There is no blood circulation in your ankle. There is nothing we can do to reverse the situation. The bone is completely dead.”

  I was stunned. How could this be? I had done what I was supposed to do. I had corrected my error. This was not the way things were supposed to work. I had followed the checklist perfectly. My thoughts and questions could not be contained. As far as I was concerned, the news was as bad as it could be, and I was devastated. If I could not trust God, then I could never trust anyone or anything. Ever.

  As we made our way back toward campus, no one said a word. I wanted it quiet and everyone knew it. After an hour of tense silence in the car, we finally arrived back on campus. No one was more relieved than I was. I hurried as quickly as my crutches could carry me to my dorm room, where I shut and locked the door. I didn’t want to see anyone. I was assaulted with such immense, overwhelming doubts and fears that I crumbled beneath them. You’re a fool, Dale Black. You’re a stupid fool to put your complete trust in God. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing, and now you’ll never walk again. You can forget about sports. Flying is out of the question, forever. All because of your idiotic faith experiment. God doesn’t heal everybody. You can’t make the decision to have God heal you. It was a big mistake not to have had that bone fusion operation. At least you could have walked again. But no, you had to act like some big man of faith. Welcome to the world of lifetime cripples. How could you be so foolish? Now you’ve lost everything, Dale.

  It was extremely difficult for me to sit comfortably. I didn’t like to lie down because of my various casts and braces. But it also hurt to sit upright for very long. The most practical place for me to spend any amount of time was on my knees. The next day that’s exactly where I found myself, on my knees at the side of my bed. Desperate. And alone.

  I had locked the door because there wasn’t a person on the face of the earth that I wanted to talk to. I only wanted to talk to God, but what I had to say was not particularly reverent. “God, You have blown it! I have made an absolute fool of myself in front of the medical staff and in front of my friends. Not only that, but we’ve made a real mess of making my life into one that gives You glory. Worst of all, my vocational goals have come to a dead end. I am crippled for life. Severe arthritis is just around the corner.”

  What I was saying was incorrect and I knew it, but I continued anyway. “Why didn’t You do what You said You would do in those promises from the Bible? Are You playing some kind of game with me? I did everything on the list, right? I did everything. But You didn’t keep Your part of the bargain, God. Could You explain why? What else do You want from me? Do You really want me in a wheelchair for life? Is that it? Well that’s exactly what You’ve got!”

  After I finished my selfish temper tantrum, I heard a clear yet gentle voice in my heart. In the exhausted quietness of my spirit, I sensed the tender voice of God’s Spirit. “Dale, why do you want to be healed so badly? ‘Seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.’ ”

  I had read that Scripture recently, several times, but somehow I had just passed by the part about “His righteousness.” Now tears began to flow down my face and once more I sensed Him speaking to me. “Seek Me first. And My righteousness, Dale. And all these things will be added to you.”

  I knew exactly what He meant. I should have been seeking the Healer before the healing. I wanted a miracle more than I wanted the Miracle Worker. And His other words rang in my spiritual ears. “His righteousness . . . His righteousness.”

  Despite my outspoken faith, despite my Christian words, despite my best efforts, I knew very well that I was not leading a completely pure life. There were still hidden sins in my life that I didn’t want to deal with. My stubborn demands for a miracle were right at the top of the list. I knew that the answer to my prayers would glorify God, but I was really more interested in what it would do for me.

  In those moments, everything changed. I finally gave up all. I surrendered all my life to God. I invited Him into every part of my life and asked Him to take complete control. “Lord, I’m so sorry. I’m living on borrowed time anyway. Every day of life is a gift from You. It is so obvious to everyone, especially me, that Dale Black should have died in that plane crash. I have nothing to lose, wheelchair or not.”

  If I’ve seen heaven, why am I still so self-centered? I couldn’t understand it. I fell before the Lord and just wept.

  I wept as if my tears could wash away all the dreams I had treasured for a unique, adventurous life. “I give up my obsession to walk again. I give up flying, sports, my quest for respect from others, everything. Lord, it’s up to You. I will still pray for healing because I believe that is what Your will is for me according to Your Word. But this time I’ll put You first in my life. First place in my dreams.”

  Then and there I decided that no matter what the cost, I would serve Him. I gave up my selfish goals and plans. “God, if You can use me better as a twenty-year-old in a wheelchair, as a cripple, then not my will but Yours be done.”

  At that moment I experienced something that had never happened to me before in my young life. I had a physical sensation that felt as if a heavy, rich substance, like oil, was being poured upon my head and was flowing over every part of me. The feeling was overwhelming and unforgettable. I was filled with joy and peace, and I felt completely free!

  Within a few days I was asked to share once again in the Wednesday night chapel service. I shared a very simple message about submitting to God in every area of our lives. I didn’t mention my ankle—or anything about me, for that matter. My conversations with everyone changed from talk of miracles on the outside to talk of a broken will and submitted heart on the
inside.

  When it came time for my next appointment with Dr. Graham, I did not invite anyone to join me. Instead, I went alone.

  It had been two weeks since I had surrendered my entire will to God. Two weeks since I had felt the warm “oil” upon me. Two weeks since I had resigned myself to a life in a wheelchair, if that was what God wanted for me.

  On the way to the doctor’s appointment my car found its way to the familiar Valhalla Memorial Park, and I pulled over and stopped just a few feet from the Portal of the Folded Wings. On countless occasions since the crash I had spent time there with God. There I asked Him questions. There I reviewed in my mind the sequence of the aircraft smashing into the monument and my body falling to the ground. There at the monument I again sat in wonder of what He had done in sparing my life.

  On this day I reviewed the checklist of the previous months. But this time I renewed my love for God and vowed to serve Him for the remainder of my days. The borrowed old green Cadillac then weaved through traffic along the familiar trek to Dr. Graham’s office.

  I quietly entered the doctor’s waiting room. I whispered a prayer in my heart: I give myself to You, God. I had no expectations. Just a desire to be all that God wanted me to be.

  After a review of all my injuries, Dr. Graham took the normal X rays of my ankle. He placed them up on the viewing screen to look at them. His voice was strangely soft and characteristically monotone. “Your ankle is healing, Dale. The blood has started circulating again.” He paused as he pointed to the screen. “I don’t understand it.” His focus dropped to the floor as he shook his head in wonder. “I cannot tell you why, Dale, but your ankle has healed more in the past two weeks than it has in the entire past six months combined.”

  He lifted his eyes to look into my face as if he might find the answer there. Then he shook his head one last time. “I don’t understand it at all. . . .”

  In the quietness of that moment, deep within my spirit, there was a resounding echo, “He who loses his life for My sake will find it.”

  18

  ON WINGS LIKE EAGLES

  It was a long, hard spring. I had dropped out of Pasadena College after six grueling weeks. I pushed my body too hard, and it pushed back, refusing the rigorous schedule I was putting it through.

  As the sap returned to the trees and their branches began to bud, I felt my body was going through a springtime of its own. One by one, the bandages came off. The stitches. The wires. I was down to one cast. The one on my left leg and ankle.

  I continued ground-training classes at the junior college. And I continued flying lessons.

  I also started working out at the gym. All my muscles had atrophied, but I couldn’t do anything about that until my bones healed. The progress was slow. I did curls with my right arm, and gradually the strength came back. My left arm was another story. I was able to raise it to about a 45-degree angle, but it took a lot of effort and the pain was excruciating.

  That was all the encouragement I needed. I hit the gym that much harder, hit the books that much harder, hit everything harder and faster.

  Now that the vertebrae in my back had mended, I was doing sit-ups. I was wearing my patch on my good eye, forcing me to work the muscles in the injured eye.

  Two weeks before the anniversary date of the crash, the cast came off. The leg looked like a toothpick, the foot was shriveled up, and the ankle, well, it looked pathetic.

  But I was determined to make that date with the monument, and I worked hard, pushing myself through the pain. The back pain. The shoulder pain. The ankle pain.

  As it turned out, I had pushed too hard.

  The closer I got to the anniversary of the crash, the more the ankle swelled. And the more it swelled, the more painful it became, until I could hardly walk. I was trying so hard to do everything I could to get my body ready for the anniversary flight. I had promised myself and anyone who would listen that I would fly again over the monument as pilot in command. Now it was just days away. Even though my body was making amazing progress, it would take a miracle to pass an FAA medical in time to keep that date.

  FRIDAY, JULY 17, 1970

  The day before the anniversary of my crash.

  No way. Who am I kidding? Me? Getting in a plane and flying over the crash site?

  Tomorrow I’ll look like a fool. A braggart full of myself. What was I thinking?

  I’m not a teenager any longer. I’m twenty years old. I should know better. I should have listened to the doctor. I should have—

  Incriminating thoughts cornered me, wagging their accusatory fingers.

  Who do you think you are?

  The problem isn’t the swelling in your ankle; it’s the swelling in your head.

  I looked at the mirror. The patch mocked me. I took off my clothes, getting ready for bed. My right arm looked like it belonged to a Titan; the left arm, to a wimp. I tried to raise it. The pain was excruciating. I managed to lift it to about a 60-degree angle from my body, but only for a second and it took every ounce of strength I had.

  I looked down at my legs. My right one looked like it was chiseled from a quarry; my left one, gimpy and discolored. I followed the grotesque sight down to my ankle. It was the size of a large grapefruit.

  The ankle that refused to die!

  I might be able to squeak my arm past the medical examiner, but not this. It would look as though I were trying to smuggle some kind of contraband fruit past customs.

  Stripped not only of my clothes but also of any selfish pride, I knelt beside the bed. Like I had done so many times before, I bowed my head and prayed out loud a child’s prayer.

  “Lord, tomorrow is the anniversary of the plane crash, July 18. It’s been a whole year. I am in such better shape than I was just after the crash last year. Better physically. Better spiritually. More than anyone could have dreamed. I praise You for that. I thank You for that. And I give You the glory.”

  I paused, wondering what the next thought should be, wondering if I could even put it into words.

  “God, so many times in the Bible I’ve read about the way You speak to people in dreams.”

  And I felt awkward asking this, the way a child feels awkward about asking for something that’s not his but that he wants really, really bad.

  “Would You give me a special dream tonight? Talk to me, please? Tell me . . . whatever You want to tell me, OK?”

  Again I paused, like a kid collecting his thoughts, then, with his arms full, realizing he has forgotten one.

  “Oh, and Father, I promised a lot of people that I would fly over the air memorial as pilot in command on the first anniversary. It’s not humanly possible, I know that. I can see that. My ankle would have to be almost normal to pass the exam. And I would have to convince someone to allow me to rent their aircraft. And fly by myself. On crutches and all. God, this would require a couple more miracles from You. And all within twelve hours. But Lord, if this would bring glory to You, or if for some other reason You want this to happen . . . please work it out.”

  Then I prayed something uncharacteristic of me, something Jesus prayed in the garden of Gethsemane; and in doing so, I exchanged more of my self-will for surrender.

  “I would sure like to fly tomorrow, if You would allow it. But Your will be done, not mine.”

  A peace I can’t describe came over me.

  “Father, thanks for life. Thanks for Your unending love.”

  I took a deep breath, not quite sure how to end. Feeling a little clumsy with my words, but also feeling an enormous tenderness toward Him.

  “I love You, dear God. And I promise to always serve You.”

  I felt I had just crawled onto His lap, and now He was tucking me in for the night. I was full of love and peace and joy. And those were the feelings that sang me to sleep.

  The next morning I awoke, rested, but not quite ready to jump out of bed. He had indeed spoken to me in a dream that night. The “secret place of the Most High” became real to me. I knew what it w
as like to “rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”

  To rest.

  Not only to strive, but to rest. That’s what I had missed out on so much over the past year. I had worked really, really hard. I had believed really, really hard. But I had not rested in God nearly enough.

  That night I experienced what it was like to be nested under Him. To be covered with His feathers. To find refuge under His wings.

  I wasn’t afraid.

  I wasn’t anxious.

  I wasn’t ashamed.

  I was His. His child. His baby bird. And He was going to help me fly. Maybe not today, but someday. I wasn’t destined for the nest. I felt destined for the sky. He knew that about me long before I knew it about myself.

  I didn’t want to get out of bed. I had been embraced in a dream. By Him. Have you ever felt that way? Ever felt that a dream was so good, so beautiful, you didn’t want to wake up?

  That’s how I felt. As if some of heaven had opened and spilled itself onto me. Drenched in love. Like the loving arms of my heavenly Father were embracing me.

  “Our Father . . . who art in heaven.”

  Whatever else heaven is, it is where the Light and Love and Life exist at the center of the universe. I felt as if heaven opened, and I saw my Father’s face looking down on me. Looking down at me in delight. Loving me unconditionally.

  I basked in that. It wasn’t because of anything I had done. It wasn’t because I had earned it. He just loved me.

  Smells from the kitchen made their way into my room. It was a lazy Saturday morning, but Mom was up early as usual, making breakfast. The smell of coffee perking on the stove, bacon crackling in the pan, and French toast. Mmm.

  I threw off my covers and followed my nose to the kitchen.

  “Morning, Mom.”

  “Good morning, Dale.”