Flying with toddlers: Lessons from 30,000 feet

Flying with toddlers can be stressful. I feel great sympathy for young parents who, wrestling with a crying baby that is unimpressed by cabin pressure playing tricks with their eardrums, endure the scowling and tut-tutting of fellow passengers. Decades ago, our two-year-old son caused consternation during what felt like a transatlantic flight, because he tried to open the emergency exit door. Bored with the inflight food, which looked like an aerial view of a farmyard, he’d wandered up to the door and appeared set to expose us all to depressurisation.

I didn’t think for a moment that he could actually open the aforementioned door, but some passengers looked a little anxious. By that I mean they were on the verge of screaming. “Richard, please come away from that door,” I said gently but firmly. Our adventurous infant was undeterred. Hand still firmly gripping the handle, he spoke the one word much beloved by inquisitive toddlers: “Why?” 

I paused. I wanted to say that opening the door would cause us all to be sucked out of the plane and plummet to a horrible death, but to state my case so bluntly might create trauma in him and heighten the nervousness of our fellow passengers. So, I softened my response: “That’s not something to play with, son. Come back here and sit down.” Richard was unconvinced. He repeated his enquiry: “Why, Daddy?”

Eventually, I managed to convince him to abandon his aspirations towards mid-air evacuation. But years later, I’m grateful that he still has the same inquisitive heart, because there’s world-changing power in asking the right questions.

One friend who consistently demonstrated that was Peter Meadows, who went to be with Jesus recently. Peter was rightly celebrated in last month’s edition of this magazine, not least because he was the genius behind the grandfather of this title, Buzz.

Later, while dreaming about a nationwide Christian radio station which some thought impossible, Peter asked simply: “Why not?” Premier Christian Radio was born. He also collaborated with others to bring Spring Harvest into being, which has made such a massive impact on the British Church – and beyond.

My friendship with Peter was birthed while serving alongside him at Spring Harvest. One enduring memory is of co-leading the evening worship celebrations with him, which gathered almost 60,000 people at its height. I was often responsible for concluding the evening, inviting a time of response, prayer or ministry after the sermon. As the preacher was drawing their message to a close, Peter would lean over to me and whisper a question: “So what?”

Far from dismissing the content of the sermon just preached, Peter was urging me to encourage all those gathered – including me – to take it seriously. Exposed to truth, now it was time for us to ask: What should we do now? How can we take steps forward in light of what we’ve heard?

Peter accomplished so much because he questioned so much – and refused to allow faith to settle down into mere pristine, sanctified theory. The apostle James, renowned for blunt talk, would have liked Peter a lot. “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead”, bristled James (2:17, KJV), who rejected vague belief with the truth that even demons believe (see v19). 

Asking questions can be the bridge to great choices, bold faith and, most importantly, a deeper friendship with Christ. I’m guessing that passing through the valley of the shadow of death has not dulled Peter’s appetite for answers to vital questions. I’m sure he’s safely home, but I wonder what he’s doing right now. Perhaps he could be located in heaven’s throng, because he’s the chap with one hand raised high – possibly in worship, or maybe he has yet another pressing question, this time, one that he’s putting directly to Jesus. I rather hope so.