Not in a Million Years

I came across an article recently on Samuel Langley (1834-1906), inventor, astrophysicist, and pioneer in the aviation world.

As a young student, Langley attended Boston Latin School. After spending two years in Europe in the 1860s, he accepted the position of assistant professor of mathematics at the U.S. Naval Academy in Maryland. Just a year later, he was hired by what is now the University of Pittsburgh as a professor of astronomy and director of the university’s observatory.

Years later in 1878, his interest in the sun and radiation led Langley to invent the bolometer, a device that can measure even small temperature differences. He would go on to found the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory in 1886 and the next year become the third secretary at the Smithsonian Institute.

He began experimenting with model flyers and in 1898 was given grants by both the Smithsonian and the United States War Department totaling what today would be about $2 million. He soon began work on a flying machine capable of lifting a human.

Five years later in 1903 his machine was launched or catapulted off a houseboat in the Potomac River—twice. He tried once in October and again in December. Neither attempt was successful. The pilot survived both crashes, but Langley was finished.

Two days after Langley’s first attempt, on October 9, 1903, the New York Times published an editorial entitled “Flying Machines Which Do Not Fly.” They called the whole charade a “ridiculous fiasco.” Given the evolutionary reality of how long it took for birds to sprout wings and start flying, they said, we shouldn’t be surprised if “by the combined and continuous efforts of mathematicians and mechanicians” it takes us somewhere in the ballpark of one to ten million years.

Just a few weeks later, Langley failed again, crashing the famous Aerodome into the Potomac. Nine days later, on December 18th, 1903, he would be outdone at Kitty Hawk by two bicycle repairmen from Dayton.

Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully flew a total of four times that day with their Wright Flyer, reaching a maximum speed of 30.01 mph. Their longest flight was nearly a minute, during which they flew over 800 feet. The brothers are now household names, and their Wright Flyer resides in the National Air and Space Museum in Washington.

While this story marks the ingenuity, perseverance, and potential of the human race, it reflects a deeper truth. God is not waiting for the mechanics and mathematicians; He is looking for the committed. The eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him (2 Chron. 16:9).

The Wright brothers had never been professors. They weren’t recognized as great engineers, at least not on the same scale as Samuel Langley, but they were visionaries and weren’t afraid to keep going.

This makes me think, how often does the fear of imperfection or failure hold us back? When we think we are unqualified and someone else could do it better?

I think of Joshua 3 and the Israelites crossing the Jordan, which just so happened to be at flood stage. God had promised that as soon as the Levites set foot in the Jordan its waters would be “cut off.” But they had to take the first step, a step of faith.

When I was nineteen, I had an idea for a mother-daughter tea. How this happened is truly a miracle, and more people came than I ever expected. Some drove over an hour. The night before I remember standing in our living room with all the tables and chairs set up thinking, what am I doing? I saw it as a risk, but God is strong in my weakness.

There have been other times since when God has had to remind me that I can’t wait until I know what I’m doing. That doesn’t mean throwing caution to the wind or trying to do something I shouldn’t and hurting someone else. Rather, it’s a step of faith in the direction of, “I can’t do this, God, but I know you can. I know your heart. I know you love these people. I’m not perfect, but you are, and mighty in my weakness.”

He’s not looking for perfect; He’s waiting for available and willing. Maybe not the Smithsonian but a humble bicycle shop. Or a carpenter’s.

It may be cliché, but it’s true: He doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called.