There is something strange about boarding an airplane at night, flying halfway around the world, and somehow never catching up with the sun.

I left JFK around 9:00 p.m. headed for Southeast Asia. By the time we arrived at our destination, it was around 9:00 p.m. there.

Night to night.

We crossed countries, oceans, and time zones, yet for almost the entire journey, darkness seemed to follow us.

Normally on a long international flight, you expect the rhythm to eventually change. You watch a movie. You try to sleep. You wake up, lift the window shade, and suddenly sunlight is pouring into the cabin. Somewhere along the journey, night gives way to morning.

But this flight felt different.

Every time I looked outside, it was still dark.

There were moments when I could see a thin line of red along the horizon. It looked like morning was about to break through. I would look out the window and think, Here it comes.

But it never seemed to come.

The red would linger along the horizon, almost like a promise of daylight, while darkness continued to surround us.

And somewhere over the Atlantic, I began thinking about how much that flight felt like certain seasons of life.

When the Darkness Lasts Longer Than You Expected

Some seasons begin with the expectation that they will be temporary.

You tell yourself, This will eventually pass.

Things will get better.

God will make a way.

Morning is coming.

And you are right.

But sometimes morning takes longer than you expected.

Psalm 30:5 reminds us, “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

I love that promise, but Scripture never tells us exactly how long the night will feel.

There are nights of grief.

Nights of uncertainty.

Nights of physical pain.

Nights when relationships change.

Nights when prayers seem unanswered.

Nights when you are doing everything you know to do, yet nothing around you appears to be changing.

You keep flying.

You keep praying.

You keep believing.

You keep looking toward the horizon.

And somehow, it is still dark.

That is where faith becomes more than something we talk about.

Faith is trusting God when you cannot see the sun. Faith is the currency of heaven.

The Red on the Horizon

What fascinated me during that flight were those occasional glimpses of red.

I could not see the sunrise, but I could see evidence that light existed somewhere beyond what I could see.

That may be exactly where someone reading this is today.

You cannot see the breakthrough yet.

You cannot see how everything is going to work out.

You cannot see the answer to the prayer.

But every once in a while, God gives you a little red on the horizon.

Someone calls at exactly the right moment.

A Scripture speaks directly to what you are facing.

A door cracks open.

You receive unexpected encouragement.

You experience peace that does not make sense considering your circumstances.

Nothing has completely changed, but something reminds you that darkness is not the entire story.

Do not underestimate the red on the horizon.

Zechariah 4:10 warns us not to despise small beginnings. Sometimes we are looking for the blazing sunrise while God is asking us to notice the first streak of color.

Maybe the answer is not here yet.

Maybe the situation has not changed yet.

Maybe you are not where you want to be yet.

But there is red on the horizon.

Keep going.

When Something Unexpected Happens in the Dark

Then, somewhere during our journey, the flight became even more interesting.

There was a medical emergency onboard.

Suddenly, what had been a long, dark flight became something more serious as the crew came over the intercom calling for any medical professionals on board to make themselves known.

I began wondering whether we were going to have to divert. Would we have to land in England? Would we have to stop somewhere else along the route? Would our entire journey change?

I did not know.

And neither did most of the people sitting around me.

We were passengers.

We knew something serious was happening, but we had no idea what was unfolding behind the scenes. All we could see was the commotion around us as the pilot and first officer hurried back and forth, checking on the situation and getting status updates.

That realization stayed with me.

Isn’t that often where we find ourselves with God?

We know there is a problem.

We know something has changed.

We know the journey is not going exactly as expected.

But we do not have access to the cockpit.

We cannot see everything the Pilot sees.

We do not know every calculation being made or every possibility being considered.

We simply have to trust that we are still in the air, even when it feels like the plane is losing pressure or going down.

Proverbs 3:5-6 says, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

That verse sounds beautiful until you find yourself in a situation where your understanding cannot tell you what happens next.

Trust becomes necessary when information runs out, and obedience in those uncertain seasons positions us to experience God’s favor.

God Can See What You Cannot

Sitting in that airplane surrounded by darkness, I could see almost nothing outside my window.

But the pilots were not navigating by what I could see.

They had instruments.

Coordinates.

Radar.

Communication.

Training.

Information unavailable to me.

My inability to see did not mean there was no direction.

That is worth remembering.

Just because you cannot see where you are going does not mean God has lost sight of where He is taking you.

Psalm 139:12 says, “Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

What feels dark to you is not dark to God.

You may not see a way forward.

He does.

You may not understand what is happening.

He does.

You may not know where this season is taking you.

He does.

You may be wondering whether there will be an unexpected landing somewhere you never planned to go.

God already knows.

Faith does not require knowing the entire flight plan.

Faith requires knowing the One who does.

Keep Flying

There was nothing I could do to make daylight arrive faster.

I could not move the airplane.

I could not accelerate the earth’s rotation.

I could not pull the sun above the horizon.

My responsibility was simply to remain where I was and trust the journey.

Sometimes that is exactly what God asks us to do.

Keep flying.

Keep praying.

Keep serving.

Keep worshiping.

Keep believing.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Galatians 6:9 tells us, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

Notice those words: at the proper time.

Not necessarily our preferred time.

Not necessarily our expected time.

God’s time.

Some of the greatest mistakes we make happen because we become convinced that darkness means we are going the wrong direction.

But sometimes darkness is simply part of the journey.

Joseph had a prison before the palace.

David had caves before the throne.

Israel had wilderness before the Promised Land.

The disciples had Saturday before resurrection Sunday.

Jesus Himself entered the darkness of the tomb before the stone rolled away.

Darkness does not mean God has abandoned the story.

The Sun Was There the Whole Time

Eventually, I realized something obvious but profound.

The sun had never disappeared.

I simply was not positioned where I could see it.

While I was surrounded by darkness, somewhere else the sun was shining brilliantly.

The darkness had not extinguished the light.

It had only temporarily hidden it from my view.

Maybe you need that reminder today.

God’s goodness has not disappeared because you cannot currently see it.

God’s faithfulness has not ended because your prayer has not yet been answered.

God’s promises have not expired because the night has lasted longer than you anticipated.

Jesus said in John 8:12, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

The light is still there.

And sometimes faith means trusting the light you cannot currently see.

You Will Not Always Be Flying at Night

We finally landed around 9:00 p.m.

Still dark.

There was something almost humorous about it. We had traveled halfway around the world, and from my perspective, the night had followed us the entire way.

But I knew something else.

Morning was coming.

It was inevitable.

No matter how long the darkness seemed to last, it could not stop the sunrise.

And neither can the season you are facing.

The darkness does not get the final word.

Grief does not get the final word.

Pain does not get the final word.

Fear does not get the final word.

Uncertainty does not get the final word.

Your unanswered questions do not get the final word.

God does.

So, if you are in a season where it feels as though you left in darkness and somehow arrived in darkness too, keep looking toward the horizon.

You may only see a little red right now.

That is enough.

It means the darkness is not everything.

It means there is light beyond what you can see.

Isaiah 60:1 declares, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.”

Morning is coming.

Until then, trust the Pilot. I remember growing up and seeing bumper stickers that said, “God is my co-pilot.” At first, that sounds nice. It sounds spiritual. It sounds like we are inviting God to ride along with us. But the longer I walk with Him, the more I realize that God was never meant to be my co-pilot. He is the Pilot. He is the One who sees what I cannot see, knows what I do not know, and understands the route far better than I ever could. I am not asking Him to assist my plans. I am learning to surrender to His. I am just grateful to be on the same plane, honored to be invited into the cockpit, and willing to follow wherever He leads.

So, stay the course.

Keep flying.

And when you catch even the smallest glimpse of red along the horizon, remember:

The sun is still there, even when you cannot see it.

Prayer:

Father, thank You that You are just as present in the darkness as You are in the daylight. For the person who feels like the night has lasted far longer than expected, give them strength to keep going. When they cannot see where the journey is taking them, remind them that You can. When unexpected circumstances make them afraid that everything is about to change, give them peace that surpasses understanding. Help us recognize the small glimpses of red on the horizon, the reminders that You are moving even when we cannot yet see the sunrise. Teach us to trust You when our understanding runs out, to remain faithful when the journey becomes long, and to believe that darkness never gets the final word. Give hope to those who are weary, peace to those who are afraid, and courage to those who are waiting. Remind us that the sun has not disappeared simply because we cannot see it, and neither has Your goodness, Your faithfulness, or Your presence. We trust You with the journey, the destination, and everything in between. In Jesus’ name, Amen.