cliff jumping

There’s something about taking a risk.  Stepping out of your comfort zone to see what will happen.

I jumped off a cliff this past week.

A literal cliff in Greece.

But I also jumped off quite a few metaphorical cliffs.

And what I learned each time?

I play this game of dancing near the edge.  I can climb to the very top but then when I look down I see all of the reasons why this might not be such a good idea.  I’ve scoped out the water and know that it’s deep enough.  I’ve watched other people jump off and survive.  Yet, still, I over think it and talk myself out of the jump.

I might fall. I might break my legs. What if I can’t breathe? What if I hit the rock? My dog would be sad if I died. That’s a long way down. I’m not so sure I’ll make it.  There’s no one down there. Okay, I’m going to go…no, no, no.  I’m terrified. I don’t think so. Dear Jesus that’s a long way down.  Um, maybe…no, not worth it. I really don’t want to go.  Okay, maybe I do.

On and on and on this goes around and the longer I wait the harder it becomes to take a risk.

I had friends jumping with me.  I had encouragement like crazy. My professor acting like a Mama and her husband paving the way. And an ever patient God holding my hand and loving me no matter my choice.

Yet, I still had to choose.

“What are you going to do about that?”

I chose. I did it.

I stepped off the cliff and jumped.

Was it terrifying? Absolutely.

Did I watch the water the whole way down? Totally.

And you know what? The jump was worth it.  I had to trust the process and get through the hard and scary and terrifying to land in the water.  And this…translates into so many areas of my life.

Will I jump or will I stay on the cliff?