At Peace With God
On a normal working day he knew he “kept the angels busy,” but on this day pilot Jeff Charlesworth had them working overtime.
My day had started quietly. Cathy, my wife, and I arose early, dragging ourselves out of our warm bed in the camper, careful not to disturb our still sleeping daughters, Katie and Krissy. We made our way into the house and I prepared a thermos and toasted a bagel while Cathy packed me a lunch. We talked a little about her plans for the weekend, then I headed to the airport.
As I drove down the gravel road to the grass airstrip on this fresh July morning in 2000, I soaked up the beauty and glory of God’s creation all around me—bright yellow canola fields glistening in the early morning dew; the wheat and barley decked in shades of vibrant green; and here and there trees and farmhouses dotted the landscape. The countryside was like a brilliant patchwork quilt, given to me by God.
My rather oil-stained Grumman Agcat—we affectionately referred to it as the “Fax Machine” because of its registration, C-GFAX—was exactly as I’d left it. I completed the pre-flight walk around the aircraft, donned a fire-proof flight suit and helmet then climbed into the cockpit and punched the starter.
The powerful radial engine slowly turned over and, as fuel pumped into the cylinders, it coughed then rumbled to life. I adjusted the throttle to a slow idle and waited as the engine temp rose.
Outside, the ground crew busied themselves with the day’s work orders and prepared my first load. We’d been spraying fungicides on the wheat and canola for three weeks, so everyone knew the routine and in 20 minutes the plane was loaded with fuel and chemicals and I was ready to taxi.
I applied power and eased the heavily laden aircraft onto the end of the runway where I went through the final engine check and my spraying run-up routine. Satisfied, I headed down the runway at full throttle.
I climbed to “ferry” altitude then, guided by GPS, set my course toward the first field of the day. As I surveyed the picturesque, gently rolling landscape of the fields of Manitoba, Canada, I was once again impressed by their magnificence.
Unconsciously, I began to hum the music to a song based on the first two verses of Psalm 62 until suddenly realised I was singing at the top of my voice in competition with the roar of the engine: “My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him./ He alone is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I shall never be shaken.”
His presence was palpable. I continued to enjoy the ride as I counted off the kilometres, passing over deserted roads and farmyards just coming alive. When I was overhead of the target field, I did my observation checks then dropped altitude to begin my first pass. The fields were large, and after a few passes up and down, the hopper was empty. The aircraft was performing well in the cool morning air, and it was a delight to fly.
The flight back to base took about seven minutes and so I was soon taxiing into the loading area, a cycle I repeated all morning as I’d done most mornings for three weeks. But I was looking forward to the end of my tour and heading to Canada for their spraying season.
I’d started agricultural flying in 1978, with the purchase of my first aircraft. Over the years since, I’d flown regularly, gaining a Canadian, US and Australian commercial licences with numerous endorsements. I’d amassed approximately 4000 hours of experience in various aircraft. In addition to flying the wheat season in Canada, I’d done the cotton season in Australia. I was well trained, had current experience, and was confident in my own flying ability and my aircraft’s performance. My self-sufficiency, however, was about to take a beating.
At 1.00 pm, after a 20-minute break for a new load, I was again performing the checks at the end of the runway . Soon I was climbing, heading east at ferry altitude about 20 kilometres with the last of four identical loads. I was five minutes away when without warning the plane entered an air pocket, which violently forced it down. I reacted naturally, applying full power and pulling back on the stick to bring the nose up. The engine responded but I continued to descend: 200 feet . . . 100 . . . 50. The surface below was also gently rising in the direction I was flying and suddenly I realised that with the loss of altitude, I was getting awfully close to it. I also realised I wasn’t going to clear high-voltage powerlines just ahead.
I began evasive action, initiating a gradual 90-degree turn. But my airspeed had fallen dangerously low and now I was headed straight for a power pylon with the aircraft still in descent.
In those few moments—about 10 seconds from beginning to end—I recall thinking: If I turn too sharp, I’ll lose lift and stall; If I don’t, I’ll hit the pylon and fly into the wires. The options aren’t looking good!
In an instant, I jettisoned my 1000 litre load of fungicide and water. The aircraft, now a tonne lighter, leapt upward, but too late. I’d waited too long to dump and now I was going to fly directly into the glinting strands of wire dead ahead: “Fax Machine” was about to be ensnared like a fly in a spider’s web. These five wires, each as thick as your wrist, carried 230,000 volts.
I’m going to die!, I thought. But I knew I was ready.
Right then, a strange thing happened. Time seemed to cease for me. I was quite conscious of my surroundings, but I was completely at ease; a calmness enveloped me: I had no regrets, merely anticipation; I felt no panic, only peace; I experienced no sorrow, only love.
Then, in a literal flash, I hit the wires and somersaulted. Through the windscreen, I saw the brilliant blue sky, next the dark green field, then blue again. I was strapped tightly into the seat, somewhat protected by the well-constructed frame that surrounded the cockpit of these rather dangerous machines. But I was helpless.
Suddenly the wild ride was over and as my head whipped back and forth, I momentarily lost sight of the world spinning outside the cockpit.
Stillness.
I looked outside the cockpit where orange flames were beginning to lick the aircraft. Instinctively, I reached with my right hand for the release catch of the four-point safety harness; my left hand reached for the latch to open the door. I wriggled out of the harness and hoisted my head and torso above the fuselage, standing on the seat.
On my unprotected face I could feel the heat of the rapidly spreading flames that began to lash at me. I guessed the fuel in the overhead tanks was about to explode, so I let go of the fuselage, falling backward and landing awkwardly on the wing before rolling onto the ground. I seemed OK; nothing broken, nothing bleeding, so I sprang quickly to my feet and ran from the wreckage. I was still running when I heard a huge explosion; I turned to see the aircraft exploding in a giant ball of flame.
At 100 metres from the plane, I stopped running and turned, exhausted from my lifesaving dash. I stood and watched helplessly as flames consumed my aircraft.
But despite having experienced such a calamity, the air of calmness still enveloped me. As the flames died down, I silently thanked Jesus for His mercy and miracle.
It wasn’t hard to smile having just survived what in most instances would be sure death. Although I knew I was ready to meet my Maker, I was nevertheless elated at finding myself alive. (Who wouldn’t be?) I chuckled to myself as I realised how close I’d come to dying but, more so, for what Jesus had done in saving my life.
I could have been electrocuted, burned or, at the very least, broken a few bones: I found a scratch on the back of my hand and had lost my eyebrows and eyelashes. I had to concede it was a miracle. I thought of what Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die . . .” (3:1, 2). Obviously, it wasn’t my time yet.
I took off my helmet and began to walk through the waist-high stalks of green wheat toward the nearby road. Now my emotions became mixed: I was elated to be alive but disgusted at wrecking my plane.
A vehicle raced toward me across the field and I could hear the more distant sounds of sirens. A crowd began to gather. It would be a busy afternoon of notifying and dealing with various authorities.
Three days later I was in the air and flying again. I was in a Cessna 172 doing an infra-red photo survey flight. The aircraft was lightly loaded as we flew along at 7000 feet, but I was ready to dump the photographer at the first hint of trouble! I’d ease myself slowly back into low-level agricultural flying, I’d decided.
I took some time out to consider the accident. I thought of the moments before impact and the calmness and peace I’d felt. What happened? How is this possible? I asked myself. I asked God the same questions as I searched His Word for clues. The words of Isaiah came to mind: “You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord for ever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal” (26:3, 4). I came across the words of the psalmist: “The Lord gives strength to his people; the Lord blesses his people with peace” (Psalm 29:11), and his son, wise King Solomon, who said: “A heart at peace gives life to the body” (Proverbs 14:30). The apostle Paul’s words seemed particularly apt: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).
I’ve experienced the miracle of the peace of God that Scripture speaks of time and time again. It’s real. I can say that I’ve had first-hand experience of God’s peace! Had I panicked, I might not have survived the crash. Of course, I also have His peace in my life every day.
As I described the crash in the ensuing weeks, some would say things like, “You sure were lucky!”
“I don’t think it was luck,” was my answer. “I think it was a miracle! But there was a time when I, too, would have thought that. That was back when I was unaware of what it meant to have ‘faith in Jesus.’ I believe in a miracle-working God.”
Each day I thank God that He touched my life, infusing it with His ideas, values and beliefs. I thank Him for calling me to be a Christian.
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