A Pig by the Tail
It was a typical day of flying over jungle-clad terrain. I departed early, landed in the highlands just after the fog lifted, and began hopping from one airstrip to the next.
After my first load—a few passengers and cargo—I got ready for my next: a bunch of pigs.
In Papua, Indonesia, celebrations for the highlanders usually involve roasted pig meat. And today’s was no exception. I’d be delivering several small pigs and one large one, at least 330 pounds, to a village a few miles away.
Distracted Midair
I put the smaller pigs in the cargo pod, then kicked the large one to see if he was properly tied. (If the pig moved too much, we’d need to add more vines.) He only grunted, so we loaded him into the Helio Courier, and I pulled on the cargo straps until he could barely breathe.
Shortly after takeoff, the whole airplane shuddered.
I double-checked the gages. Inspected the engine cowling. Glanced at the wings. Then the plane shook again.
I glanced back in the cabin. My pulse quickened as I saw the large pig working his way out from under the cargo net, heading toward the back—and taking my center of gravity with him. If he moved too far aft, the airplane could become uncontrollable. I reached back, grabbed his tail and pulled for all I was worth.
It was an even match.
He wasn't moving away, but I couldn’t pull him back into place. I pushed forward on the control yoke, trying to decrease his weight and pull him forward. He didn’t budge. I remembered that everything else in the airplane, including the fuel, also becomes light during that maneuver. Given the steep mountains beside me and the rocky creek below, I decided it wasn't worth trying again.
So there I was: A pig by the tail in one hand, and an airplane in the other.
I’d need both hands to land safely. If I let go of the pig, he’d surely ruin my day. Hang on, and I’d eventually run out of fuel, valley or energy. Since my destination airstrip was very challenging, I quickly decided to land at a more forgiving one nearby.
Across from my touchdown point, I let go of the pig and focused on getting down safely. If I could land before he escaped from under the net, the flight would end well. I needed just a few minutes ... and I got them. I successfully landed, and with the help of local people, I repositioned the pig.
This time I pulled the cargo straps until his eyeballs bulged.
Don’t Forget: Fly the Plane
In flying—and in any area of life—sometimes we’re stuck with a pig by the tail. At times the distractions are too big to ignore. But if we focus too much on them, they prevent us from accomplishing our work. In my case, the pig was a major distraction from my core task: flying the airplane. I couldn’t ignore him, nor could I focus on him. When distractions interrupt our ministry or work, we can’t forget to do what we're there to do. Fly the plane.
Jesus hints at this in Luke 12:16–21, when he tells about a rich man whose priorities weren’t in line with God’s will. His objectives were to accumulate wealth and secure his own future, which distracted him from his purpose: to bring glory to God.
The “fool,” as God calls him, forgot his core reason for living. And sadly, he never achieved his objectives either.
Focusing on flying the plane meant my cargo was delivered, the people had meat for their celebration, and the airplane didn’t get bent. It was a happy ending for all involved ... except the pig.
—Keith Betsch served in Indonesia for fourteen years as a pilot and three years as a regional director. Since July 2005 he has served in administration at JAARS, where he’s currently our senior vice president of international services.
