The freedom of Giving Fear The Finger

We step up to the line every day. Our toes wiggle in nervous anticipation as they near the edge.

My feet used to be ready to jump. Reckless as they lofted my body into the waiting universe toward whatever came at me.

Bring it on, they’d shout with enthusiasm.

Somewhere along the way I learned to fear. To worry, and my toes curled up and tilted my body backwards. Away from what was coming.

I learned about fear and worry and doubt. About insecurity and potential “what-if’s“.

And I lean away from the edge.

Stepping Off The Ledge And Giving Fear The Finger

It is a strange thing to realize about yourself; to come to terms with this alter ego.

Part of me is still ready to jump, and I resent the intrusive personality that argues against it.

Still, the mind whispers, “What if you fall?” “What if no one catches you?” “What if it doesn’t work out, or someone gets hurt?”

I chose to start giving fear the finger and stepped off the edge. Literally.

My husband wanted to go zip-lining for our 20th anniversary. I have some major edge/claustrophobia issues.

An opportunity arose to go flying through the tree canopies. Seven times, seven lines.

From 50 to 1,500 feet in length. Treetops. Up to fifty miles per hour. Did you catch that? 50 MPH.

I didn’t want to do this, but I also don’t want to live under the domination of fear.

We shelled out big bucks, oh the irony, and went through orientation as we were being strapped up. I was the last one, and my husband whispered encouragement as he went before me.

Now, the first step is onto a little swinging bridge without sides.

The flier is already completely strapped up, therefore safety is covered. As I stood on the ledge, I told the guide “I don’t think I can do this. I can’t do this. Unstrap me.”

He looked at me close and said, “You can do this. Everyone is scared at the edge.”

I grabbed hold of my line, and ever so cautiously stepped off. Terror and determination battled it out in my heart. I thought I would puke. But I didn’t. One step, another step, another step.

Every line was scary; but less so.

I even worked up the nerve to let go of my iron-clad grip (momentarily).

My husband?

He let go with delight right away and figured out how to fly upside down. Here is what I learned; you have to trust your catcher.

He is the guy at the other end of your rope. The one who is in charge of slowing you down as you approach the tree at colossal speed.

It is dangerous, but he takes his job seriously.

God is my catcher, and He is yours too.

He understands the dangers and takes our lives seriously. I am going to jump. And when I am scared, I am going to be scared…and jump anyway.

Because I don’t want to miss my life. Because I don’t want to teach my children that fear is the best way to live, and sometimes I surely have already done that. I need to lead with boldness.

And if my rope should break? I am trusting God to catch me, wherever and however I fall. And for now? I am jumping off the edge.

Into the wind. And I am going to fly.