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?
b'ahava 