Economy Class Sovereignty 

It might be selfish of me; but before I start an outdoor adventure or leave on a big trip, I ask Jesus to reveal his heart, his character, or his glory. Before my first flight toward the Arctic Circle, that prayer came with a visual hope: to witness aurora borealis in person for the first time. For this trip, I added a second prayer request: “God, will you show me why you put the desire in me to go on this trip—why you wanted me to search for you in the Arctic Circle?”

That request was answered before I boarded the second of my three flights to Rovaniemi, Finland.

A prayer answered seemingly too soon

When Finnair personnel appeared at my gate, I approached the podium. I asked one of the agents if there were any empty seats in the front of the plane to which I could upgrade and how much that would cost. She clicked a bunch of keys on her keyboard and studied her monitor. There were no remaining business class seats. “All we have available in Premium Economy are middle seats,” she noted as her eyes worked down her screen. A few metallic clacks later, she added, “To upgrade would be $260.”

The gate agent paused and then quietly suggested that I shouldn’t pay for the upgrade. “I’d stay with your assigned seat. You’re the only one in that row.” If I sat at the 58H on my ticket, I could claim four contiguous seats. Four sets of pillows and blankets. Four screens I could set to different map and camera views. I would have more room than anyone had in business class, let alone in the middle seats right behind the see-through curtains.

The answer to my prayer wasn’t the ability to spread out and sleep, though that was a nice cherry on top. In fact, Heaven’s response to my request only indirectly applied to my trip. It just made each and every wild adventure I was about to have in the arctic a bonus gift.

No, the answer was something bigger than flights—bigger than my vacation.

The real answer to my prayer

In 2021, I released my second book through what was basically self-publishing. I hired a former White House writer to edit the manuscript. I commissioned an award-winning book designer in London to design the cover and lay out the interior. I bought a three-microphone recording setup and paid one of the best podcast producers in Nashville to create a podcast series to support the book’s launch. I ordered custom podcast merch. I had impressive full color boxes printed, filled them with books, and shipped them with handwritten notes on custom greeting cards to Christian influencers. I hired one of the top publicity firms in Christian publishing—which has represented more than 90 bestsellers—to book me on as many TV, radio, and podcast shows as they could. 

I spent more than $30,000 in an attempt to get people to care about what I had to say. At the time of this posting, I’ve sold fewer than 300 copies. Not great ROI. I’ve been embarrassed by how small the checks have been to the charity that gets all of my author proceeds.

When my publicist asked me why I wanted a publicity tour, I told her I was using Scared to Life as a vehicle to earn some name recognition for my next project. I was writing “the book for which I’ll be known” and assumed that traditional publishers wouldn’t give me a look if I didn’t have a big enough presence in the marketplace. 

I finished the manuscript of that third book last summer, hired a literary consultancy to help me build a killer proposal, and landed a well-respected agent to pitch my book to traditional publishers. Over the last few months, every single one of the acquisitions editors he contacted declined to purchase the book. The feedback: I was too much of a risk. With such a small personal platform, I was an unknown variable. 

An appropriately-sized platform

For the past three years, I’ve been trying to buy a middle seat in the Premium Economy section of the Christian Industrial Complex. And it has cost me far more than $260. I’ve asked insiders and professionals over and again how I can get a bigger seat with more wiggle room. I haven’t been chasing fame, but I’ve tried so very hard to sit where people assume your words are worthy of attention. 

The irony is that in the back of the plane—in the parking lots of my church, around the fire pits where my friends and I disciple each other, and in the home I share with my adopted daughter—my words already carry weight. In our shared economy seats, fellow passengers say my texts, cards, and conversations minister to their hearts. I luxuriate in feedback from friends, family, and ministry relationships that my life matters and that my investment in others bears fruit. My soul spills over with connection, affirmation, and purpose on Sunday afternoons, on Wednesday nights, and at bedtime after long conversations with my kid on the couch.

A woman in a Finnair uniform of JFK’s terminal 8 implied for my flight what Jesus was speaking over my life: “You’ll be grateful for your assignment in the back of the plane.”

I knew when I arrived home from Finland that a ton of work awaited me. Self-publishing would be a gauntlet again. But this time, I would spend less, press less. I wouldn’t fight my caste or my assigned obscurity. I wouldn’t try to push, pry, and maneuver myself onto a stage Sovereignty knew I wasn’t yet ready to occupy. That realization freed me to absorb five days of frozen adventures with a sense of contentedness and wonder.

Embracing the back of the plane

My flight back across the Atlantic didn’t have a seat assigned until I checked in the night before my departure. As I scanned the seat map on the airline’s website, I scrolled down the plane’s rows until I found the seat I wanted. I clicked on 58H and then on the Check In button.

I had the whole row to myself on all three flights back to where my MINI was parked. I drove from that North Carolina airport to the Virginia library where my spiritual adventure community gathers during January & February. The meeting room buzzed as energy radiated from more than 20 guys. Every dude shared what the Holy Spirit was whispering to his heart that week.

When it came time to pray over each other, I scanned the room before I closed my eyes. I removed my hat, bowed my head, and thanked God. I was sitting in the back of the plane, and I knew almost at a cellular level it was exactly the right place to be.