Wednesday, October 18, 2006


These well-worn wooden floors remind me of a time when life seemed simpler, my thoughts diverted by things like swimming and fishing and playing hide-and-seek with my cousin and the neighbor boys. Every thing was a potential adventure. While any passing adult might have seen a pile of pine branches that had been cut down, we saw a mountain to be conquered and an imaginary scene to be enacted. They saw a dug out foundation for a new house, we saw a hiding place or a stellar bike jump. They saw an alley filled with gravel, we saw buried treasure underneath the surface. They saw a pathway lined with bricks, we saw places to find nightcrawlers for our tackle boxes.
And I ask myself if I have lost my child-like view of the world. The factors of adventure (and danger) have never left, but my acknowledgement of them comes and goes. I write it off because I've somehow "matured" past the point where it is allowable to laugh (perhaps a little too loudly) at something small, or to dig a hole in the ground because I have a hunch that there is something valuable buried there. Something inside of me in my seemingly adult existence draws back, appalled at the thought of how others might react.
So, slowly but surely, I've embraced new adventures and searched out new perspectives. I've taken risks and gone out on limbs. Case in point...I jumped out of an airplane. But most of all, I've sought out a confidence that comes from the God who never ceases to pursue me. One day at a time, I am learning what it means to live and move and have my being in Him.
Now all that's left is to ask one thing: what happens next?

Monday, October 09, 2006

Ten Thousand Feet

We sat and watched as plane after plane full of people went up, returning to the ground with only a pilot. Far above in the atmosphere, we saw them begin to descend. At first they were specks, accelerating impossibly fast and tumbling toward the earth nearly 2 miles below. Soon colorful parachutes burst out from behind them and they markedly slowed. They turned and spun and floated, eventually approaching the ground at what seemed to be about 20 or 30 miles per hour, then somehow slowed at the last moment enough to make a soft landing. Some fell forward, but all returned to the hangar unscathed. And there we stood, realizing that in just a matter of time, our turn would come.

After a long day of waiting, our names were called out. We were the last to go, and we were more than ready. As the plane took off, I felt my heart begin to flutter. The feeling quickly subsided as I focused on breathing. I talked to God just as if I were sitting outside on a cool night as the trees rustled in the wind. It seemed like we climbed higher into the sky for an eternity.

Something about being at 10,000 feet caught me off guard. I wasn't afraid...after having every expectation that I would be. My instructor, Jack, began to prepare me for the jump, harnessing me tightly to himself. "One point five minutes to jump!" The pilot called out above the rickety din of the single engine sardine can in which we sat. Jack asked me in the last minute if I wante do to a flip or two when we first jumped. I said no, then yes. Why not? I thought. I've come this far, I might as well take it for all it's worth. At thirty seconds, he opened the door. I looked at my friend who was jumping after me and he gave me a wide-eyed, knowing look. I was ready. I was more than ready. I was briefly afraid, but not overwhelmingly.

I set my foot on the small platform just outside the plane door. In a blur, Jack's foot was next to mine and he quickly prompted me to fold my arms over my chest. We were in the air in a split second, tumbling at 120 miles per hour toward the brown and green speckled farmlands below. Ground...plane...ground...ground...It was coming at us so quickly, yet still seemed to distant. I felt like the air was almost liquid as it rushed into my face, but like a screen being pushed against me at an intense velocity. Somehow, I was perfectly able to breathe.

The chute opened and pain shot into my legs. My feet started to tingle. Jack quickly loosened the harnesses to give both of us a little more room. The best part had just begun. He talked to me as we floated down. At one point he carefully gave me the reigns to steer the chute into turns and spins. It was exhilirating and beautiful. I felt so at peace and in awe of God's beautiful atmopshere. I was acutely and oddly aware of my sinuses the entire time. It was simultaneously comical and amazing.

We landed softly and safely and soon after we were on the road heading back to our campus. Our car ride was full of reflection and a long string of phone calls to family and loved ones to let them know we hadn't been splattered across the lands of Oklahoma...though part of was (and still is) up there in the sky. As I closed my eyes to sleep that night, the entire experience kept replaying in my mind, almost as if it were automated. It was the experience of a lifetime...and I have a feeling it won't be the last time I do embark on such an adventure.

(Not bad for someone who is petrified of heights and falling, right?)