Flying is safe; everybody says so. But still I assume that any airplane carrying me or someone I love will crash, either into the sea like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, or into the jungle like in Lost. I maintain this belief even when the air route is Oregon to Massachusetts over land only, which is the path my son will follow later today and which causes me anxiety. Yes, I'm nuts, but only when it comes to flying; in all other ways I am too sane. (In fact, a little more crazy in my life might help.)
This morning I awoke in a decent mood despite the flying thing, having put in a prayer to God late last night and early this morning that He bring my son home safely. As usual, I felt confident He would take care of it. That confidence was quickly shattered by the front page photo of the Wall Street Journal, its caption recounting a burst dam in Brazil that wiped out a village and killed 58 people for sure, with more than 300 still missing. This event made my pathetic little prayer seem selfish, and more importantly, likely to be overlooked since it appears God's got bigger fish to fry.
Who's a big fish and who's a little fish is hard to tell, with perspective in short supply these days. The burst dam in Brazil must matter since it's "front page news," but I'm guessing that as you go about your day, nobody will mention it, those dead Brazilians all being little fish. Instead you'll hear about that horrid Donald Trump (big fish) and "the wall" and impeachment, and maybe, if some eager young editor strikes gold, Melania Trump's (big fish) latest sartorial faux pas. Meanwhile, all I (little fish) care about today is Zack (special, bigger, exotic little fish) getting home safe.
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