High Dives...

"You squeeze my hand. I know you're nervous. But I will be waiting, ready for you, to let go." -Andrew Allen, Let Go

"Because that's what people do. They leap, and hope to God they can fly. Because otherwise, we just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, 'Why in the hell did I jump?'"- Hitch, Hitch

"Come, follow me..." -Mark 1:17

When I was a youngin growing up in Santa Rosa, I attended YMCA summer camps. Every week we'd go to the Ridgeway community pool. The first day of every session of camp we'd all have to go to the medium-depth pool and take a swimming test to make sure we didn't get in a pool that we would drown in. I'm sure you've seen these tests. If a kid can't swim at all, he or she has to stay in the pool where water doesn't come above the head.

However, if a kid was a swimming ace, he or she could go all the way to the pool with the diving boards. There were two regular diving boards. And then there was a high dive. And you better believe I passed my swimming test with flying colors so I'd be able to jump off the high dive.

I had images in my head of the greatest jump the world had ever seen. I had no fear. After all, I was the kid who would take his bike down the steps and climbed to the top of the monkey bars. And I was going to get to the top of that high dive and do the greatest double flip in the history of double flips.

So, with my newly attached bracelet indicating that I had permission to take on the big pool, I strode with chest puffed out to the line for the high dive. I was one of the only people in line, so it didn't take long at all to get to where I was the next person in line.

And then the moment arrived: it was time for me to scale that ladder and become the talk of the pool.

I stepped up on the first step and thought, "Everyone must be looking at me climb this thing. They must know that I'm about to do the most impressive thing they've ever seen." I was a regular eight-year-old Evel Knievel.

But then I hit the fifth step and that puffed out chest began to regain its sunken in shape. At the seventh step panic began to set in. I was twice as high as I was tall, and there was still one or two more steps before I reached the board. Regardless, I pushed on and reached the top. My moment had arrived.

Except, once I reached the summit, I'd become terrified. It was SO much higher from the top of the board than it was down at the bottom. I couldn't jump from that high. I certainly couldn't do a double flip. So many things could go wrong. What if I landed on my head? Or on my back and felt the loudest SPLAT of agony the pool had ever known?

I was panicked. But a new problem emerged. The next kid who wanted to jump had started scaling the stairs and was just waiting for me to jump. I couldn't go back! I couldn't quit! It was time for someone to prepare the body bag and tell Mom I loved her.

So I did the one thing I could. I ran. From one end of the board to the other. And when I reached the end of the board I just leapt. There was no hop to get a little spring under me. There was no tucking my head in to make sure I rotated as much as I needed. I just leapt. As far and as quickly as I could so that I couldn't think about it.

I think that's kind of how love works.

There's a stage where you're waiting to climb the steps and you're full of giddiness at the world of possibilities. There's going to be a double flip and everything is exciting. And then you step onto the ladder and those dreams start to feel real. The rush is almost too much. You want to get to the top of the steps as fast as you can.

And then something happens. You realize how high you've gotten and the full extent of the situation begins to take hold. Oh, the rush is still there. There's still an exhilaration. But it's no longer safe. You're up on a platform where anything could happen. And that's a scary proposition.

And then there's a moment of decision. You could turn around, slowly walk down the steps and decide that the jump is just too big. And there's nothing wrong with that! Sometimes the wisest decision is to walk away from something that we realize isn't right or is too big for us.

But maybe, just maybe, we decide to jump! And it's as scary as you could imagine. And there's a rush of exhilaration that can't be matched. And the double flip you had imagined spinning to the awe of everyone watching turns into a sloppy, uncoordinated fall. And maybe you're going to land with a smack on your belly. But you know, in that moment, that you'd rather risk that thud and utter disaster than not jump at all.

I recently told the first person in my life that I thought they were the person I wanted to marry. Talk about a plunge off of the high dive! That's like... TERRIFYING! And... EXHILARATING! And it's risky! It's the kind of thing that takes the floatees and the parachutes off. It's a moment where you leap from the board unsure whether you'll land with absolute celebration or utter agony.

But you know that you have to leap, because even the thought of landing with a splat is more appealing than walking away from that possibility that it might be great, climbing down the stairs never taking the plunge, letting fear get in the way of what might be the greatest story of your life!

That girl and I recently broke up. And, as you might expect, it felt like a bellyflop from 20 feet. And yet, that's the risk of love. At some point, it can't stay safe. At some point, you realize you have to give up the safety of the diving board for the uncertainty of the drop. You have to jump two feet in and hope for the best, even with the possibility of abject failure.

I think God loves like this! God's love seems like the ultimate kind of high-dive-enthusiast love. Like a father who lets his younger son run off with his inheritance just hoping one day he'll come back. God's love for us is risky, and God seems to get rejected all the time.

Judges is one of my favorite books of the bible because it's just a story of God's people constantly falling away and worshipping others, only to come crawling back to have God forgive them. And God does! Every time! Even at the risk that they will leave again down the road. That's a God who isn't afraid to bellyflop over and over again to show us love.

Later, in one of Jesus' parables, he describes God as the Good Shepherd, the shepherd who would leave 99 sheep behind to go find the one that got lost. That's SO impractical! That makes NO sense! But that is irrational love. That's a God who would jump off a high dive!

And I can't help but think about the stories of people who left everything to follow where God was leading. I'm sure when Moses started heading back to Egypt with a staff and a promise he was fairly exhilarated and definitely scared (he'd just seen a bush on fire that wasn't burning and heard the voice of God!!), but I wonder, as he got closer and closer to Pharaoh's palace, if he ever thought about turning back. If he ever thought about climbing down the steps and just heading home.

Or the disciples. There must have been something incredibly exciting about being fishermen who were suddenly asked to follow a rabbi. They dropped their nets and followed immediately. But at some point, they must've asked themselves, "What have we gotten ourselves into?! People want us dead!" And yet, that is the risk of love, and they transformed the world.

Love is a risky thing. It is full of highs and lows and ups and downs and celebrations and heartbreaks. But it can't be safe. At some point, for love to take root, it has to let go of the platform underneath it's feet and trust the fall without any guarantee that the landing will be a smooth one.

So may you learn to jump and not climb down. May you learn to risk the chance that love could lead you places you never meant to go. May that love fill you with hope and exhilaration and joy and the dreams of a double flip or the greatest cannonball the world's ever seen. And may you know that you are surrounded by the love of a God who is taking the plunge every day, risking rejection over and over to draw us into the fullness of our belovedness. And if we bellyflop, know that God will still be there clapping when we come back up to the surface.

forever unfinished...