They’re not usually the words you want to hear when you’re flying in an airplane (“We’re losing altitude”), because more often than not they spell impending disaster. They say these words in movies moments before the inevitable crash unless the pilot miraculously pulls the plane out of its dive and catastrophe is averted.

And I had a moment like that recently when my two oldest grandchildren spent the night at our house. They are both already tall, and growing like weeds, so one of my daughters thought it would be good to update their heights marked in pencil on the door jam to our washer room. The results were striking.

My own adult height was established many years ago, of course, and like most people I know I have continued to quote those numbers throughout my life; doctor visits, motor vehicle registrations and any other entity asking for my height has gotten the same info. Of course, I’ve never bothered to check it again for any recent changes. After all, once you are grown you don’t anticipate getting taller; instead, your focus is usually on weight. And then . . . no one expects to get shorter . . . at least not until they’re very old and feeble.

So when my daughter asked to measure my height and compare it to the grandkids I had no objection; I was confident in my height. The results, however, were quite telling: what had for decades been 69 inches was now reading just under 67 1/2 inches. What?

Now 5’9” is not considered tall, of course (my Dad and brother both exceeded that by far), but anything shorter than that is . . . well, . . . SHORT. And now, at 71 years old, that was ME! I had shrunk. Yikes!

That’s when I realized – I am losing altitude. Is a crash impending? Well, of course it is in one sense; each of us will cross that proverbial River eventually. But does it have to be a crash? A disaster? Impending doom?

As I pondered this change in my height, and considered the numerous other changes in my body and in my mind in recent years, I was forced to look more closely at the airplane metaphor that haunted me. Because, of course, each and every plane that lands safely loses altitude, too. The loss of altitude doesn’t always precede a crash; more often than not the landing is smooth, over and over again.

This life you and I are living is comprised of gains and losses, heights and low places, light and darkness, mountain peaks and deep valleys, elation and grave disappointment. It is not static; rather changeable. We long for sameness. Then it bores us. We need change. In truth, we are built for change. It pushes us to unseen realms; newness challenges but it grows us, too.

So now . . . I am 5’7” and change, I guess; my grandson towers over me, and at least one other grandchild will soon follow. And that is okay.

My airplane is gradually landing. I don’t know if the landing gear is down yet, but clearly the flaps have been adjusted, the speed is decreasing, the seatbelt sign has been turned on, and we are in descent. Yes, we are losing altitude. In a moment I expect the flight attendent will ask me to put my seatback tray up and unrecline my seat.

In the meantime I have books that need reading, family that needs loving, and good food that needs eating. Losing altitude ain’t so bad after all.