Jumpin' Jumpin'

I jumped off a cliff. Really! My brother says that makes it sound way more intense than it was, but I jumped off of a 40 (ish) foot rock that jutted out above the water. Cliff? I think yes.

What possessed me to do that, you might wonder. It seemed like an excellent idea at the time. It still does. However, you know how they say the third time is a charm? You should probably pay way more attention to that than you currently are.

The first time was terrifying. Looking up at Chimney Rock (that's what it's called) I was pumped. Whilst scaling treacherous (and very slippery) rock facade using only a rope and my brute strength, my excitement level decreased as my altitude increased. By the time I made it to the top and peeked over the edge, I was beginning to doubt not only my decision but also my sanity. But I was still extremely excited. It was not until I took the leap off of the rock that my brain kicked in and told my heart what a freaking idiot it was. The resulting facial expression was one million percent priceless. Sheer terror mixed with the realization that I had just flung myself off of a cliff and gravity was all kinds of on my one hundred (and something) pound side.

The funny thing? I hit the water and decided that I should probably climb right back up and do it again. I'm sorry, what? Yes, I jumped again. And that was it...

for a few days. Then I went back. And jumped again. Every time I tried to concentrate on having a more peaceful expression and every time I failed (though I think I was getting somewhere with my third jump), though no face in the history of ever can measure up to that first countenance. (I'll say it again... it was REDONKULOUS.) Then came the fun part. My fourth jump. I had it figured out. Instead of creeping up to the very edge of the rock (where I had a view of the drop) and jumping, I was going to step and leap so I never fully saw the drop. It was the perfect plan. I was all but guaranteed to have an expression other than that of horror—anything else would do.

So there I was, atop Chimney Rock, three steps back from the edge, preparing myself for what was sure to be my best jump yet. Before I had time to let my brain realize I was doing it again, I step, step... SLIPPED off the edge. Yes, you heard me. My third and final prep step in the perfect jump, the one that would catapult me (nonchalant face in place) into the big blue water below, and my foot slipped. You may be wondering what a foot slip from such a height would cause. Obviously, as evidenced by this post, I did not crash headlong into the side of the cliff. Nope, that was not the case. Something equally terrible did happen though. Two words. BELLY. FLOP.

Which brings me back to my original point. Listen to the people. Third time is a charm. I pushed my luck and went for four. Bad idea. My body parts still aren't fully cooperating with me.

God requires a similar kind of jump from us. A leap of faith. We can't see Him, but we have to trust in Him enough to know that He is here and He is all we will ever need.

Then Jesus told them, “I tell you the truth, if you have faith and don’t doubt, you can do things like this and much more. You can even say to this mountain, ‘May you be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and it will happen. You can pray for anything, and if you have faith, you will receive it.” —Matthew 21:21-22

... I just hope when I take my leaps of faith for God I have a much more peaceful countenance than I did upon leaping from Chimney Rock.