When the Plane Dropped, She Turned to a Minister
The plane hit turbulence so hard it felt like it was negotiating directly with gravity.
Seatbelts tightened. Drinks trembled. A few silent prayers quietly upgraded to urgent ones.
In 14B, a young woman gripped the armrest like it owed her money.
Next to her sat a minister — calm, composed, the kind of calm that suggests either deep faith… or excellent denial.
Another violent drop.
She turned to him, voice shaking but hopeful:
“Reverend… you work for God, right?”
He gave a polite nod.
She leaned closer, almost whispering now:
“Then maybe you could… do something about this?”
Outside, lightning flashed. The plane dipped again, just for emphasis.
The minister took a breath, as if considering a formal response.
He straightened his jacket.
Measured. Professional.
“Ma’am,” he said gently,
“I represent the brand.”
A beat.
“But I don’t control the operations.”
The plane jolted again.
He added, almost kindly:
“I can pass along your feedback, though.”
