Twwwwwoooooo

The clouds were amazing driving to work today. I drive across three counties to get to where I start work on Wednesdays. Many times the sky forewarns of stormy changes, with it's dark, ominous cloud line stretching out ahead.

Today the darkness was dueling with the sunrise and the result was a panorama of different kinds, colors, and layers of clouds. It was so glorious and powerful.

On the way here, I was stopped by a State Highway Patrol officer. I knew I wasn't speeding so I was quite confused as I spied him turning around behind me.

I have only been stopped twice in my life. Both times I just got warnings. The first time we were traveling to my in-laws on Christmas morning. I was going 61mph in a 55 zone--out in the middle of nowhere where everyone else just flies. He let me off with a warning. Today, the very nice and young patrolman stopped me because I don't have a front tag. Well, I have it. It's sitting in the back end of the car. When Nelson had his accident last winter (rear ended someone at a stop sign when he hit black ice) the plate was knocked off. I left a rather heated message on Nelson's phone while I waited for the patrolman to come back with my warning. The almost humorous thing was that Monday evening Nelson and I were looking at the front of the car and he commented on how he needed to get that tag back on there. Day late...

Recently Asher has taken up a new pastime. He brings his little step stool to you and the game is that he counts and then jumps at you. We taught him that it's important to count when you intend to jump so that the receiver is aware and ready for their role. It's no fun and sometimes painful to jump and not be caught. So, now when Asher goes to get his step he begins counting, but he doesn't start with one. He says, "Twwwwwwoooooo." It's sort of sung with a southern elongating drawl. It's so adorable. Then when he jumps he looks up with absolute glee and announces, "Again!" Currently it's my favorite game.

The other night he put a variation to the game. He climbed up on his little step and turned around. He very gingerly inched his way precariously to the edge so that he was hanging on with just his toes looking like a miniature Greg Luganis. He announced, "Twwwwwwooooo." and "jumped" off. His pride at landing on his feet was incredible and he immediately climbed back on to the step.

Watching him brought back a very vivid memory for me of a time when I stood perched on the edge getting ready to jump.

In the summer of 1980 (eons ago) I agreed to be a counselor at junior high camp. I agreed, asked no questions, and showed up on Sunday afternoon well before the campers were to arrive. After the counselors all assembled we were marched into the woods to a ravine. We were busy commenting on the beauty of the location when some folks walked up and began to unload gear: ropes, clips, and gloves. No one seemed to question them so I kept quiet. Then the leaders informed us that during the week the campers were going to repel off the edge into the ravine some thirty feet below. I began to feel sorry for the kids. The next statements changed my feelings completely. In order to be encouragers and modelers the counselors were going to go first. What? No one had checked with me about this. The leader who invited me to be a counselor had failed to mention this little tidbit.

The next thing that followed was a teaching session to show us how completely safe this whole process was. The instructors must have stated two dozen times in their presentation how safe this process was and that they could be trusted. That might be comforting to the average person, but those reassurances never reached my quivering heart.

I had always maintained that I was afraid of heights. This lesson quickly taught me that I'm not nearly as frightened of heights as I am of crash landings.

I'm still not sure to this day how it was that I got into the harness and made my way to the edge of the ravine. It's quite possible that I experienced a dissociative moment. All I do know and remember is standing on the edge with a death grip on the ropes. One of the other counselors decided to tell me I was whiter than a ghost. I needed to know that? Another felt compelled to tell me that she could see my heart beating in my chest. I was sure she wrong because it was lodged somewhere between my throat and my ears.

I hung at that edge for what seemed like forever. I don't know how I mustered the courage to push off but somehow I did. The first movement caused my ropes to twist a bit and I crashed against the rocky side, leaving me scuffed and bruised. I righted myself and tested my brake. It seemed to be holding. I released and tested it again. Still working. Then I just let go and before I knew it I was standing at the bottom of the ravine. And I looked up at the instructor and in total Asherlikeness announced: Again!

I used this illustration when I taught the WINGS class on Tuesday and then again on Wednesday morning at the worksite. We were talking about whether our fears motivate us or cause us to shut down. The image works when we think about anything that we fearing to do. I was thinking it also applies to ability to trust God as well.

In Hebrews 13 we find the promise of God: I will never fail you or forsake you. It's a reminder of His promise from Psalm 118:6. It's like He's standing with the ropes in His hands, trying to assure us that we can trust Him, that He won't let us splat. Sometimes we can get turned around but that's usually because we're working against him. If we'll get it straightened around we'll land right.

It's good to be reminded that He holds the ropes. And we don't even have to announce the warning "Twwwwwooooo" before we jump--He already knows we're thinking about it. Now that's who I want to trust. How about you?