"Watch your speed," I said, as he stared intently out the window. He glanced down and then looked outside again toward the runway that was starting to come into view in front of the aircraft.
"Speed!" I said more forcefully. I saw him push slightly on the stick, but as he did so the view of the runway started shifting upward in the windscreen, presenting the visual cue that we were coming in short. His grip tightened on the stick and all too surely the nose started to rise as he unconsciously started to exert back pressure on the control in an attempt to shallow the glide angle.
The airspeed indicator was dipping below glide speed now. "Push! Push! Nose down!!" I added forward pressure on the stick to get the nose down and regain speed, that vital, lift-producing ingredient. We were back at glide speed, but it was painfully obvious that at this angle there was no way the plane was going to make it to the runway.
The student was already trying to pick the nose up again, an exercise in futility that wouldn't end with a reusable plane (or occupants).
"Can we make it to the runway?" I asked tersely.
"No...no, we can't," he managed.
"Where are you going to land?"
"In the field here," he answered quickly, looking at the grass immediately in front of us. "Okay, good. Go-around," I replied.
After a climb back to altitude and a short debriefing on the importance of maintaining glide speed, it was time for another go. He did better this time, making sure not to glide too far away from the runway during his descent, and keeping better tabs on his speed. But there would still be plenty more opportunities down the road to fight that powerful urge to pull on the stick when things weren't looking right.
This story isn't about any particular student. The story is a composite, because everyone has been here, myself included. We all learn early on in pilot training that it's impossible to stretch a glide. There's a speed at which the plane glides most efficiently; go faster and you get more drag, go slower and you get more drag as well - either way, you get a steeper glide angle. Keep slowing down and eventually you'll stall the wing, in which case you can forget about gliding at all.
The only way to control your speed in the glide is to manage the pitch of the plane with the elevator control, pushing the nose down to allow gravity to do the work that the propeller would have done. And this is where a deep-seated human survival instinct can actually kill you. Without proper training and conditioning, every one of us will try to pull back on the elevator control when we feel threatened by the ground. The impulse is almost overwhelming when you're a half mile away from the runway with only a quarter mile of gliding capability. Yet if it came down to that, your only real chance of surviving is actually to keep the nose down and "fly the thing as far into the crash as possible" (Bob Hoover). And surprisingly, the odds of walking away can be quite good. The alternative is almost certainly a bad outcome as a result of stalling the plane a couple hundred feet off the ground.
This is where difference between belief and trust can mean the difference between becoming another statistic or living to tell the tale. Belief doesn't require any action. Trust does. My students believe me when I say they'll kill themselves trying to stretch a glide. But get them in a situation where the plane appears to be dipping toward a place they don't want to set down, and the first few times they won't trust me that keeping their speed up will keep them alive. The hand creeps back, the speed decays, and before things go too far, I end the scenario. It's valuable for them to experience this in a controlled environment, though, so that they can be aware of their natural tendency and realize that it doesn't work. It's important refresher training for me too, particularly when I give a demonstration and glance down to see my speed starting to dip a bit below best glide speed.
This is what flight training is about. Learning what to believe, and then learning how to trust what you know will work when you're faced with the almost-overpowering instinct to do the exact opposite.
It's the same way in life. What do you believe? You might say you believe that God is good and that everything He says is true. But when the rubber hits the road, do you really trust Him and act on those beliefs? Or do you revert to that powerful instinct to trust yourself instead?
I say "you", but I guess I'm really writing this for myself. I need a reminder to act on my beliefs, because otherwise they have no use. Words like, "All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose," (Romans 8:28) don't cease to be true just because they've become cliched and I don't feel like they can help right now. Yet I stop trusting them whenever things in my life start falling apart. Instead of holding on to what I know is true, I see the rough place that I'm headed for and subconsciously start reverting to what feels right and natural. In so doing, I give up the only way that works.
Following God's way doesn't come naturally; it takes training and practice. But I'm thankful that He's such a patient Instructor, as He repeats over and over, "Do not fear, I will help you" (Isaiah 41:13).
I believe Him. I think one of these days I'll actually start trusting Him more too.
