I have never wanted to bungee jump.
Don't get me wrong, I've always wanted to say I've been bungee jumping.
I've wanted to be cool and fearless enough to bungee jump.
But I've never actually wanted to bungee jump.
You see, I'm deathly afraid of heights. Oh, I can peer over the ledge of a skyscraper and manage not to break a sweat, but willing my body to fling itself off a platform that is unnaturally high with only a towel and an endless string of rubber bands wrapped around my ankles is something completely different altogether. Despite several attempts to pursuade myself, I have never seemed able to convince myself that there could be an alternative ending to my leap than my untimely, yet well-deserved death.
(Do you ever notice how much easier it is to commit to something reckless when the hurdle of fear is still miles and months away for you to conquer?)
All too quickly the opportunity presented itself and I found myself on a platform hundreds of feet in the air with two unfamiliar men expertly wrapping my feet together and reciting a list of simple instructions. I had insisted on being the first of a string of jumpers, although bravery was never my motive. Quite the opposite, actually. I was simply hoping my resolve would last.
As instructed, I hopped and then shuffled to the edge of the platform, clutching onto the bar above my head as I felt for the drop with my toes. Any shred of bravery I had left had vanished by this point and I was gripped with a sudden and crippling fear. I remember a thickly accented voice telling me not to look down, but the warning was unnecessary; I had already clamped my eyes shut.
I inched my toes along. There it was: the end of the board from which I was expected to leap.
Oh, God. Could I really muster a leap? It felt more likely that my legs would buckle beneath me.
On second thoughts, that might not be so bad; I wouldn't need to jump at all.
"Wave to the nice people watching from the pavilion," a gruff voice instructed.
Unwilling to pry my eyes open for fear of losing what was left of my resolve, I waved awkwardly in the direction of where I hoped my squad watched, trusting that at a distance no-one would notice my still shut eyes.
My heart thudded loudly in my ears. Panic set in.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea… I'm scared…
My heart is beating so fast."
It came out in a broken squeak that was almost inaudible over the thudding.
The answer was automatic, flat, like it had been said a hundred times before:
"That's good. It means you're alive."
The bungee workers wanted to begin the countdown immediately, but I begged desperately for them to wait: "Please! Don't start just yet. I need to pray."
Even with my eyes latched closed, I could sense their growing impatience. I knew what they were thinking: I was going to be one of the difficult ones. But I didn't care. I needed this. Needed Him.
So, with all the boldness I could muster, I prayed out loud, as though I were delivering a speech to the Nile itself.
Every time.
What's a few more yeses?
Hello, adventure, right?"
And after a silence that lasted a small forever, the countdown began.
3…
If I could have made a home in this moment and lived in it forever, I would have, because while my heart thudded wildly in my chest, it still meant 2 full counts where I didn't have to jump.
2…
I hadn't succeeded in freezing time.This was really happening.
My chest tightened. I wondered if I were still breathing.
1…
Nope, definitely not breathing.
BUNGEE!
Still petrified, I plunged forward. I can't tell you if I screamed the entire way down or if my mouth remained clamped shut with terror, but I can tell you that it was absolutely frightening the whole way down. The length of the fall seemed to stretch out across time as did the sudden-drop feeling you get in the pit of your stomach. Whoever had said the jumping was the worst if it had lied. I was thinking exactly this when the end of the rope caught. My body jerked and I found myself suddenly face down, swinging wildly over the Nile.
The thing that motivated me to take the leap (if you could even call my awkward topple a leap) was remembering the pact that Papa and I had forged. On my way to training camp nearly one year ago, I told God that He could ask whatever He wanted of me and my answer would be 'yes.'
But there was one condition: He had to promise to never leave or forsake me.
It was then that He first asked me to team lead.
Yet, after 6 months of around the clock leadership, I found myself drenched with the desire to quit. I was worn out, spread thin, and just entirely spent. I had only one measly drop of energy and courage left. I asked God if He would allow me to step down and take a season to rest. He brought me to the book of Ecclesiastes.
Ecclesiastes 5:4-5
“So basically, no?”
I can't say I didn't feel disappointed at the answer. I had only one drop and yet God was asking for it, coaxing me to trust Him with the tiny portion of sanity I had left.
Being up on that ledge was so symbolic for me. I jumped as an offering to Him. It was my way of saying that even when I am tired, even when I am weary, even when I am afraid, even when I don't understand, I will leap if only it will bring Him glory.
Because He is worth it… every time.
"My heart is beating so fast, God. I am scared."
