As a kid I learned to swim. Delaware summers are hot and humid, and quite a few years growing up we survived by hanging out like hippopotamuses in our family pool. We had one of those plastic, above-ground pools that you set up every spring that consisting of a long wall bolted end-to-end in a circle and a liner over top. Our job was to help dad work the wrinkles out of the bottom as it filled up with ice-cold water from the hose.
My siblings and I loved to play games in the pool like sharks and minnows and Marco Polo, but the family favorite was whirlpool. To make a whirlpool everyone would begin to swim around the edge of the pool in the same direction as fast as they could, just like stirring soup. The water would begin to swirl around the pool so fast that it would carry you with it if you stopped swimming. Then we would float along and catch our breath. One day we made a whirlpool so fast and so strong that the liner could not hold any longer. It burst at the base of the wall letting out so much pool water that it sucked both me and my little brother out under the wall and carried us across the yard.
I learned to swim. I never learned to dive. Many of our friends growing up had big in-ground pools with diving boards. On one occasion I remember attempting to dive head-first, hands out in front of me. I jumped high and put my face down toward the water, and that’s when my dive fell apart. Fear suddenly stepped in, told me I was upside down and the ground was coming up fast. In an awkward attempt to save myself all limbs sprang into action, flailing in attempt to right my falling form. Then I landed, hard and flat. The pain I felt on impact was indescribable. I probably would have screamed if I weren’t already under water. And I couldn’t move. The impact (or more accurately, the pain of the impact) had paralyzed my body and legs. I paddled my way to the surface with my hands and grabbed the side of the pool and just breathed.
After a few minutes the feeling returned to my feet and legs and the pain subsided, but the fear that came in that short moment between takeoff and meeting the water stayed with me. Everytime I stood on the end of the diving board from that moment on I thought about the pain I had experienced. And just about every time, I decided against taking that leap.
It is my understanding that our experiences in life shape our fears and our beliefs. Our bumps and bruises we collect along our journey help to protect us. They help us to avoid pain, injury, disappointment, or a broken heart. Pain can be a good thing, but pain has an evil twin called fear. Pain can keep you safe, but fear will paralyze you.
2 Timothy 1:7 says that God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love and of a sound mind. Take a moment to think of some of your fears. They can be anything, silly or horrifying. I will list some of mine for you.
Spiders.
Being alone.
The dark.
Being alone in the dark.
Spiders that attack you when you’re alone in the dark.
That might strike you as funny, but i’m serious. lol
I’m also afraid of embarrassment.
I’m afraid of failing.
I’m afraid I’ll miss God’s voice and somehow spend my whole life wondering what I was really supposed to do for him.
I’m afraid I’ll take that leap of faith he’s asking for and he won’t be there to catch me.
Now that I’m writing these down, they sound stupid. But don’t some of your fears sound just as stupid when you bring them out into the open? I’m standing on the edge of the diving board. My toes are hanging over the edge. I’m looking down at the crystal blue water below. Everything inside me wants to turn and run. My head screams “don’t do it! Its gonna hurt!”. But there’s a tiny little voice that says “trust me”. A tiny little part of me knows if I don’t jump I’ll always regret it. So I stand there, caught between the fear and the faith.
The Spanish word for “takeoff” is despegue. The second half of the word –pegue comes from pegar, meaning to stick or to glue, and the first half, des, means to undo. So it literally means to “unglue” or “unstick”.
In order to gain altitude, a plane has to unstick itself from the ground; it has to overcome the force of gravity that keeps it glued to the earth in order to fly. Isn’t that a beautiful picture of the battle between our faith and our fears? Fear holds us down, keeps us captive when stepping out in faith would let us fly.
A couple weeks ago when I first arrived in Pachuca, I was walking through the downtown area with Pablo and his family. We found ourselves in an open square with a stage at the center and little nooks for sitting all around. Vendors all over the square were selling fruit or candies or offering to shine your shoes for a few pesos.
An old man in dirty clothes with a long grey beard caught my eye. He had a few belongings on a concrete bench nearby, but he was on the ground on his hands and knees, scribbling on the concrete with a piece of chalk. I was told he was once a professor at a nearby college, but is now just a crazy old man who sits in the park and draws on the ground.
My heart went out to him as I watched him. What story would this man tell that would end with him living out his days scribbling away meaningless equations and gibberish on the ground? What had brought him so low? I wanted to go to him, sit beside him and find out who he was.
Almost as soon as I thought it, fear seized my whole body, gluing my feet to the pavement. What if I don’t know what to say? What if he doesn’t want anyone to talk to him? What if I get in trouble for talking to strangers? (Parents, that one really sticks with your kids. Like for life.) Really what it boiled down to is: what if I look foolish? I stood agonizing for a moment and snapped a quick picture, but in the end I walked away. My fears won.
I don’t know about yours but my life is full of these moments. God takes my hand and walks me to the end of the diving board. Sometimes I jump, and I’m overwhelmed by what he can do through me when I trust him. I’m blown away by his majesty, his beauty, and his love. He has never let me fall. But I’m sad to say that most times I back away. My fear glues me to the ground, and I trade what he can do in me for what is familiar and safe.
This morning I read in Hebrews 10:38 that “My righteous one will live by faith. And I take no pleasure in the one who shrinks back.” My neck bristled when I recognized myself in this passage. I want to be His righteous one, the one who lives by faith, and the one He takes pleasure in. But all to often I am the one who shrinks back, living in fear, keeping to the safe zone. But no more! I am committing today to be bold in the name of Christ, no matter what the cost may be.
Maybe you have a similar story or a similar battle to mine. Maybe you have a story of victory, and a testimony of how God showed His glory through your obedience. I’d like to invite you to share your story below. Its my hope that by being transparent about my failings and shortcomings that I might encourage someone. And I believe that through sharing your story you will encourage me.
“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.” Hebrews 10:24
