On Wednesday night, my husband and I will be boarding a plane to England. We will spend a few days in a lovely little village where his work will be shown in a Tolkien art show.

I know I’m going to enjoy seeing the numerous friends we met a year ago in the same spot, as well as the full English breakfasts, the bourbon crème biscuits, and, of course, shopping in the little stores.

But first I have to fly over Greenland. And when it comes to any form of transportation, I am the ultimate coward.

You might not want me as a passenger in your car. I am the type that grips the nearest handle and watches each approaching vehicle with anxious attention. If you don’t brake quickly enough, you can count on me to grind my feet into the floor on the passenger side.

It’s difficult for me to fall asleep on a long flight because I am sure that at any moment, the pilot is going to announce that there is rough weather ahead — and he needs someone to come into the cockpit and give him advice.

Of course, even though I have never set foot in a cockpit, I would be happy to become his official back-seat driver. “You’ll want to avoid that cloud over there!” “Slow down! What’s the rush?”

People tell me that I have to stop worrying. “Just let go and enjoy the ride,” they say. Just like I am supposed to “let go and let God!”

This is not easy for a high-control person.

I know that God sees the sparrow fall. I believe he has counted every hair on my head. I also am well aware that the best prayer is “Thy will be done.”

Still, I am a bit of a backseat driver when it comes to God. I am always planning months ahead, not realizing that he may have other plans.

There is a note on the calendar near my desk: “Life can be seen as an adventure, or as a trial. If we trust God, it is an adventure.”

This little saying expresses my deepest hope. I want to climb aboard the plane with a cheery heart, looking forward to the many adventures awaiting us in England. I don’t want to clutch the armrest and worry that the plane might fall out of the sky.

Fortunately, a glass of wine silences the droning voice in my head that warns me about impending disasters. I recall that St. Paul said a little wine was good for the stomach. Well, it also seems to help certain anxious souls.

I will also say my Rosary, since that, too, calms the voice. And maybe this time, as the plane is landing, I won’t feel compelled to help out the pilot. I will sit there calmly and not grind my feet into the floor. At least, that is my prayer!