Trust Fall

I fall. 

The first few seconds almost a slow descent before my body rapidly picks up gravitational speed. Time suddenly slows into vast, weightless motion. Seconds stretch out into fractions of time soundlessly clicking by as the rush of cold air pushes all thought to a standstill. 

And for a moment, there is nothing. 

As the milliseconds snap by, my body must decide to follow instinct and dive, or continue to fall aimlessly, chaotically, without direction or prose or position. 12 seconds and I am ripping toward the surface of ground. The dynamic race toward earth and reality increasing exponentially until the moment the forces clash, embrace, and accept the fall together. Terminal velocity meets drag force. Equilibrium meets exhilaration. 

I am falling, until the moment I am floating. Weightless and soundless in my fall. 10, 9, 8,.... panic sets in and I pray...my mind second guessing in the anticipation.... 7, 6, 5... what if my chute ... 

4, 3, 2, .... fails..... 1,......  Amen."

Years back I found myself one evening caught somewhere between silent, passive prayer and worried thoughts. A typical place on a typical evening, relaxing in a quiet place I had carved out just for myself as the stars came out one by one. And on this particular night, I heard God say to me, "Do you trust me with him?" 

It was such a direct and honest question. 

My eyes flew open at the bluntness of the inquiry. And immediately I had questions for God to clarify what He was asking me. I replied, "Who? Do I trust you with who? God, WHO are you talking about? God, I can't answer your question until I know what this means?" Round and round we went. Night after night, week after week, month after month. God kept asking the same question, the same way. And I replied with the same frustration and obstinance. "God, I want to get this right. Talk to me. TALK to me! Answer me!!" Night after long night He continued to ask me. 

And on we went. God and me. Round and round. 

I prayed, I read, I sought, I cried... and often He watched me fall asleep in troubled prayer and tearful exhaustion until one night, the question came again. Long after the cessation of grief, the maturity of thought, and the nature of my talks with Him shifted into a peaceful place, He asked me again. Same setting. Same evening plot. Same stars awakening one by one for the night shift. He asked me again.

 "Do you trust me with him?" And the answer came so easily, so confidently, so sure. 

I answered Him boldly. 

"Yes,  I trust you with him. Because it doesn't matter who "he" is, does it, God? It matters that I put my trust in you about him. So it doesn't matter. Yes, Father. I trust you with him. Yes, of course. Yes." 

And before the final consonant left the refuge of my mouth, God presented the next question. 

Pointedly direct, brutally raw. 

"But do you trust me with you?" And without hesitation or thought, I firmly answered back. 

"No. I don't.", I choked out the response in a sudden burst of truth. And in that moment, I felt the terminal velocity of fall hit me so hard the breath left me. The realization that the trust I was so certain about had such limitations and boundaries for myself. The truthful answer betrayed me as it echoed into the night air before I could form a correction and proper response, that would no doubt be the lie of my life. 

And the thought has taken residence ever since. 

What is it that true trust looks like? What does it feel like? Where is the evidence to know that I've crossed the threshold from one place to another, from the corner of wary watching and fraudulent claims of trust into the comfort of truth and the wholeness of faith. How long have I been straddling the boundary of the two? 

Each night I climb into the embrace of my bed, sitting perfectly square inside the sanctuary I have created that feels like peace. On the nights that I cannot escape to my starlit solitude, this is where I talk to God. Inevitably, my conversation with Him begins in gratitude only to seamlessly shift into requests about worries, and before I realize it, I've told God step by step how everything could possibly go. As though I am the vetted strategist, the planner, the expert on the process of living. 

And often, that planning for God has left me sleepless, restless, tumultuous, and worried.  The rocking back and forth of this mental ship leaving me begging for relief. I move then from place to place, bedroom to couch to chair, to change the atmosphere of my mind, as though that will close the doors to the noise. Night after night I pledge my trust to him, feeling solid in that promise. Many times I am. And then the noise begins. Quietly as first, the rocking of old patterns. I push it back, and it climbs into the bed with me as though we are old friends. Round and round we go, once more. 

One night, God spoke again, "Is that trust? You're not even sleeping. How can I move in your life if you already have your own plans laid out for me? Where is the rest that comes in the moment of sleep? You are the wounded child who feels responsible to check the locks and sit up on the nightwatch. And that is not your responsibility. To trust is to rest. To trust,,, is to let go. " And what a heartbreaking realization that was. And I knew, if my heart felt that as a Believer with a vibrant and healthy raising, how must the hearts feel of the truly wounded.  It broke my heart, over and over again. 

Trust often arrives with agonizing slowness and unsteady gait. A slow trek of one step placed in front of the other as the precipice looms before us, growing larger and more promising but gaining in risk as we ascend. The knowledge of the fragility of trust holding onto us as closely as our shadow. One wrong move and down the mountain we go. As we anchor into footholds and plateaus, moments of rest as we catch our breath and adjust our load, perhaps that is where trust can settle into our soul. Moments of breaths and thought as we gain a second wind and push on to higher ground.

But how do we get there? How do we get from the safety of solid ground, to the ledge we jump from? Even if we find ourselves at the top with the danger of the rock slide behind us and out of reach, how do we leap? How do we take a step from a ledge knowing the fall will not only hurt us, but end us? When we have been betrayed and failed, when we have betrayed others and failed them, both give us equal reinforcement that it is possible. Once that happens, how do we leap into the waiting arms of a fall, only to plummet violently toward the ground and actually trust?

Do I pack my own parachute and trust that my untrained hands will do it without error? I am not an Army rigger, an expert in aerodynamics, a physicist, a pilot, nor am I a bird, or even a seasoned jumper. I am a defiant amateur bound and determined to go this direction. Yet I am unskilled and unprepared. Do I lean on the cheat sheet of gravitational pull and drag? Do I make myself into something I am not so that I can achieve my goal? Do I abandon the dream or desires of my heart? Do I want my own way done my way? Am I that arrogant to believe that my novice and limited knowledge could possibly be better than the trained expert, or even lead me anywhere other than to my damage, destruction and demise?

I have a choice to make. 

Fortunately, God gives us choices. And in doing so, we often prove our lack of skill and expertise when we go alone. So I have a choice. I must decide which I want more, "me" or "Him", "me, the amateur" or the "expert", "my way" or the skilled way. Do I want "me" so badly, that I would allow it to take me down the road to my end? Or do I choose the One who knows me better than myself. Am I so determined to plan for God that I am willing to pack my own parachute? 

God knows my defiance. He knows my mistakes. He knows my heartbreak, my victories, my strengths, my weakness, and everything that I do not even know. He knows the mountains I must climb and the rock slides that have landed me at the bottom. And just like my own father, He has never failed to pick me up, dust me off, and check my parachute before I try again. Because even if I do not know my future I know this, neither would let me fall to my death when I put my trust in them. I know this. He would never ask me to trust Him unless He knew.

If I could jump, take that leap, and trust in the one who went before me,, if I could confidently step off the ledge into the the exhilaration of life, feel the rush of the wind against my face as I descend into the equilibrium of moments, to enjoy exactly what I was supposed to experience.. If I could know that my Creator was going to lead me, check my gear, and then catch me...what would I do? And how could I possibly enjoy the abundance of what God has for me if I am filled with the worry of it all?

Trust is hard. There is no doubt in that. It will not arrive like a gift on my doorstep. It will not instantly appear as the stars at night or as certainly as the morning sun. It must be something I work for, pursue, and even then - I still must choose it. 

I want Him, more than me. I want His way, more than my own. 

I want His guidance, His love, His will, much more than I want the solitude of my own doing. 

I must seek that. Only then, can I leap. 

And I trust that when it's time, the conversation will happen again. And God will tell me that not only is my parachute checked, packed, and secure - but that I won't go alone. 

"If you jump, I jump. If you go, I go. If you fall, we fall together." 

And I trust in that.