Serving God Without Propellers

By Pam Kumpe

So that you know, I’ll never fly a helicopter.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not even if the pilot hands me the keys, pats me on the shoulder, and says, “You’ve got this.” Because I do not, in fact, “got this.”

I learned this painful truth when I entered college and took a series of career assessment tests. The goal was to help students discover areas of work we might consider pursuing in the future. There were questions, aptitude tests, personality checks, and then, because apparently someone thought college freshmen needed humbling, a mock helicopter.

Yes, a helicopter.

My assignment was simple: sit in the little simulator, grab the handles, touch the right buttons, and fly the silly thing digitally across the screen.

Simple, they said.

Well, bless their optimistic little hearts.

I grabbed the handles. I pushed the buttons. I leaned forward with all the determination of a woman destined for greatness, or at least destined not to embarrass herself in front of strangers.

And then I crashed my helicopter.

I skidded across the runway.

I flipped my helicopter.

I stalled my helicopter.

I landed sideways, upside down, and possibly in another county. If there had been digital cows nearby, they would have scattered.

No matter what I did, that helicopter was not going to fly; it bucked, dipped, spun, and flopped across the screen like a June bug in a ceiling fan.

Meanwhile, the line behind me grew. Students shuffled their feet. A few mumbled. Others wiggled with the kind of impatience only young adults can display when someone else is publicly failing at aviation.

And there I sat, still gripping the controls, still trying, still giving that poor helicopter one more chance to become airborne.

Finally, the kind instructor leaned in and said gently, “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to become a pilot. Let someone else try.”

Well. There it was. My aviation career had ended before it began.

I climbed out of that little machine with every eye in the room glued to me. Defeat followed me like a sad trombone. But then someone in line whispered, “I’ll give you credit. You didn’t give up.”

I cannot remember how the rest of those tests went. I do not remember what careers they suggested for me. I only remember one thing with absolute certainty: I could not fly that stupid helicopter.

Now, I do not ponder this daily. I don’t sit around sipping coffee and mourning my lost life as ‘Captain Pam of the Skies.’ But now and then, the memory rises when I crash and burn in some other area of life.

And haven’t we all?

Have you ever spoken poorly of someone? Let harsh words fly before kindness had a chance to buckle up?

Your helicopter just crashed.

Have you ever ignored the nudge of the Lord to encourage someone, check on someone, forgive someone, or show kindness when it would have been easier to look away?

Your helicopter just stalled.

Have you ever turned a deaf ear to God’s Word, skipping the spiritual food your soul desperately needed while feeding everything else?

Your helicopter just skidded.

Have you ever grown complacent in your walk with the Lord, letting your flesh have the controls instead of surrendering the day to Him?

Your helicopter just flipped over.

The truth is, we all crash sometimes. We wobble. We stall. We take off crooked and land in places we never intended to go. But praise God, failure is not the end of the flight plan.

I may never fly a real helicopter, but I can still be a “helicopter of hope” for someone’s heart today. I can lift another person with encouragement. I can hover near the hurting. I can carry kindness into a hard place. I can rise above my own discouragement long enough to point someone else toward Jesus.

This verse compels me: “Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing” (1 Thessalonians 5:11, ESV).

That is real flying.

Serving God. Encouraging others. Refusing to let the enemy use yesterday’s crash to keep us grounded today.

So maybe I will never pilot a helicopter.

But with God’s help, I can still lift a heart. And friend, so can you.