Sometimes it's difficult for us here in the United States to understand the risks missionaries take when they are overseas. Risks they take as a normal part of their calling. In some parts of the world, flying is the only way you get around, however in those same areas flying can be very risky.

You need to be ready to meet God on a moments notice.

The other day, I wrote my feelings out while flying in an old, poorly maintained Air Venezuela airplane from the jungle city of Puerto Ayacucho to Caracas in the country of Venezuela.

As I was writing the old twin engine plane was doing as well as she could.

Here we are about ten thousand feet climbing high over the jungle heading toward Caracas. We have passed the takeoff test. Hopefully it will be an hour and twenty minute "non stop" flight. All the Catholics aboard have blessed themselves; we missionaries, on the other hand, simply hold our hands under our arms and cross our fingers.

In my trip eight flights have come and gone and now there are only three more and then I'm home. This one is the last challenge. Boarding this flight in the hot humid jungle city of Puerto Ayachucho is always an experience. Armed and uniformed soldiers go through your luggage before you check in at the counter of the one available airline. When boarding the flight, soldiers take a brief look through your carry-on luggage, but no one bothers to check your person. The airport here is less than a mile from the Colombian border. It's a known fact that guerrillas flourish in the little city of Puerto Ayachucho. Fortunately no guerrillas in their right mind would hijack an airliner in this mechanical condition. This fact, however, offers a little consolation.

We are slowly flying toward Caracas in an old modified San Diego Convair airliner converted to turbo prop (CV 580) back somewhere in the early sixties. This airline, Air Venezuela, has five Air Venezuela planes, all with a bad mechanical history; so bad the airline is called by the locals "Scare Venezuela" or "Prayer Venezuela." It's true that they carry their own mechanic aboard. In the future they may be needing a priest too.

Several missionaries have shared with us some graphic stories of massive hydraulic leaks, burning engines and having flown into Puerto Ayachucho on only one engine. Last week one of their planes blew an engine before takeoff, perhaps a rather fortunate mishap! Yesterday a missionary friend of mine and his family got on and off their Air Venezuela plane to Puerto Ayachucho three times before they finally changed to another plane that would actually fly. They arrived two hours late, but the important thing is that they did arrive and alive at that!

Actually, I'm not really stressed out about the flight I'm on. Life is an adventure and there is always a risk factor; I must admit, however, that in this case the risk factor is a little greater than that with which I feel comfortable. Looking in the seat pocket in front of me doesn't help matters much; as I carefully take out the colorful folder and reread the procedures we go through prior to an "unlikely" air crash. My thoughts continue to center on survival.

Unfortunately, I had a window seat adjacent to the right-hand engine and looking out of my window I counted seventeen screws missing in the few inspection plates I see.

On the positive side, the majority of screws are doing their best to hold the other plates on. The engines large upper rear panel is covered with black soot apparently from smoke of a previous fire. The left hand engine looks a little cleaner and has only a few screws missing. It is comforting to have one engine that looks good, however, one can't help but wonder how the inside of these engines look. Perhaps it's best I don't know. The jungle down below looks to be in far better shape.

An attractive stewardess pushing her cart down the aisle offered me a cupcake and orange juice, but I must admit at this point I gave a long look at the whisky; it might have made me feel a little more positive.

The stewardess just announced that we would be landing in Caracas shortly. We slowly descend toward the airport with our fingers crossed. An unhappy 9-year-old boy to my right is sobbing in his mother's lap, pounding his fists. Maybe he has flown Air Venezuela before, who knows? As for me, it's just what I like. A planned descent, another landing under control! It looks like we've made it.

Now it's only two more flights to go.