Chilly rain pelts my face as I step from solid rock earth to the simple wooden deck hanging over the edge of the cliff. Carabiners fly from various cords and cables clipping all over me as I do my best not to look down at the Zambezi River thundering 120 meters below me. The man securing me to me cables is silent through all this, and his silence somehow only intensifing the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
He’s about to clip me into the final cable and I reach a shaking hand up to make sure that the dinky piece of string we used to secure my glasses to my face, like a totally nerd, is still in place. I nod to the staff member as he clips the big cable on.
He keeps one hand on my back and the other on the big cable. I lean backwards against the force literally trying to drag me off of a cliff. I inch forward slowly, telling the staff member “count me down. PLEASE count me down,” growing frantic trying to fight the pull yet also wanting the motivation to jump. He laughs at my franticness and begins counting.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” He shouts, and—
—I jump.
I jump high and as I begin soaring through the air, my body realizes, oh, we did this, this INSANE thing. This isn’t normal. So my legs start flailing in the air, trying to find ground that just isn’t there (it’s okay to laugh, my whole squad already did).
And, of course, I screamed.
I screamed all the way down, any rationality about the cable eventually catching me gone far from my mind. I tried to count the three seconds of free fall, but my mind descended into a puddle of terror unable to do anything but kick and scream. The fall rates much, much scarier than the jump.
But eventually, the cable caught me and soon I was swinging through the most beautiful gorge filled with lush green. Honestly, it’s one of the single most amazing things I’ve ever done. Down there, all you can hear is the thundering river hanging only a few meters below your feet, swirling menacingly, beauty in is danger. All you can see is the sheer, sharp cliff faces before as you swing back and forth between them with little waterfalls flowing down them in the rain.
There was nothing and nobody but me down there soaking in all this beauty. I captured a small holy moment, the feeling that I was the first and the only person to see this amazing wonder created over a million years by God just so I could delight in it someday.
I became so overwhelmed with the beauty of it and the impossibility of what I’d done that I started singing “10,000 Reasons.” It’s God and I’s song in this World Race season and I got to sing it to him from the top of my lungs swinging through the bottom of a gorge in Zimbabwe.
My life feels like a collection of impossibilities.
And after my shaky legs were back on solid ground and I felt like the smile would never leave my face, I started thinking.
This gorge swing, that’s us—me and God, I mean.
I’m this little girl who looks around, decides to trust, and jumps despite what my eyes and flesh tell me. And He’s a rope guiding me over unimaginable dangers and past rocky places. And when I chose to trust Him, I get to laugh and sing, knowing that even when it looks like I’m going to bash against the rocks or when it’s hard to trust He’ll catch me in the freefall, He’s got me.
This month more than ever I’ve got to trust Him. My team is having an “ask the Lord” or ATL month. What this means is that our squad dropped us off at a town just across the border in Zambia. We have no contact here, no host, no church, no ministry, and no place to live.
So, we ask the Lord, and He will guide our steps.
Already, we’ve secured housing in a safe and clean hostel for a nearly 75% discount to stay within our budget. Already, the Lord is honoring our jump and guiding us to places that are safe. And only just yesterday we met a man in town—who was only passing through— who met World Racers this time last year and gave us a lead to a potential ministry in the area.
I’m committing to trust and I’m committing to the present moment, because if you think about it too long—like when standing on the edge of a cliff— you probably aren’t going to be willing to make that jump. Not me. This month, I want to jump anywhere and everywhere, knowing the hands that measured the universe are going to catch me.
Please, join my team in prayer as we are seeking the Lord and his people in the unknown of this month in Zambia.
