Falling Right Now

It was just about award-worthy. I'm not sure if an award exists for this sort of thing, but I'm thinking that maybe I'll invent the superdad-who-conquered-the-grocery-store-with-a-long-list-and-two-kids award. My performance was breathtaking. While I didn't see anyone from Guiness hanging around to verify, I'd swear I set a new speed record. Seriously. When I bumped the shopping cart into a curb I was going so fast that Gabe almost flew out of the seat.

Once we got back to the SUV, Aisha asked if she could go "up up on the car." Every once in a while I will let curious, adventurous Aisha sit up on top of the Mountaineer while I'm loading Gabe and the groceries. Pretty good view up there for a three year old, I'd imagine. When it's time to go, I'll hold her legs steady so she can stand up. Then, after a deep breath and one last look around, we count to three...

And I always catch her.

Falling can, all at once, be the most terrifying and thrilling sensation. Having surrendered completely to the power of gravity, your senses overload while adrenaline makes your heart race, your face flush, and your sweat glands do their thing. Limbs flail and grasp and eyes wildly search for some way to regain control.

I'm falling. Over the past few years Rachel and I have sensed that something was up. At times it has been in the air so thick we could almost taste it. It has dominated our conversations with each other and with our Father. It has been fodder for dreams; waking and sleeping. It has turned my stomach and thrilled my heart on more than one occasion. God has been gently leading us to the edge of the unknown and we knew He would eventually ask us to jump. This past September and into the New Year, our palms started getting sweaty as we finally found ourselves, like the little girl on top of the SUV,  standing on the edge of it and looking over. So, after a deep breath and one last look around, we counted to three...

Right now, I wish there was no such thing as falling. I wish we could go from the leap to His arms in no time at all. That has not been the case. This falling is such a test. Is He really going to be there, waiting at the bottom? Has He had me harnessed in this whole time? Does He even know that we jumped? Did He have anything to do with it?

Jesus, I trust you. I belong to you. I recognize your voice, and you know that all you have to do is say the word and we will obey. I trust that you've invited us to jump, and that your arms are extended and closer to us then we perceive - but all of my senses, and all of my earthly reasoning is screaming at me, upset that we've left the safety of the edge and have surrendered ourselves to gravity. I believe you, but God, help me with my unbelief.

Beyond shadows and visions, we do not know exactly what is next. We don't even know where we are going. All we know is that He is trustworthy,  and though I haven't felt it yet, something tells me that the tips of His fingers are just inches away.

New

I need new brown dress shoes. Actually - I kind of have a thing about shoes. Not an obsession like buying ten million pairs and keeping half of them unopened in the garage. No, not like that. I actually only have a few pairs and am currently wearing the heck out of a new set of Toms.

For me, shoes are nostalgic. Those are the shoes I wore during the earthquake relief in El Salvador. These ones are from my first date with Rachel. The worn out Nikes are the ones I wore in Africa (can you spot them in earlier posts?!)

Throwing away old shoes is always tough for me, usually requiring a whole lot of nag... I mean prodding from Rachel, followed by a stare-off-in-the-distance ritual where my mind travels back to all the paths those soles have left their prints on. That moment of meditation is more often than not followed by a whispered prayer of thanks, and no doubt a few words of repentance. You see, it is not just the good things that we remember, is it? Painful memories tend to be haunting, and memories of mistakes and sin can turn your stomach and cause your face to go flush years after your shoes carried you away from wherever it happened.

That's why I like new ones so much. My old friends were so good to me - it would take days to chronicle everything we did together - but they are finished now. The laces are fraying, the soles are dried out cracked, and soon it wouldn't even be healthy for me to try to walk in them any more...they're done. I love them, but it is over now. It is over, and there are adventures and mountains and sacred places that I need to get to that my old shoes just won't be able to take me.

The bittersweet moment culminates as I walk away from the trash and my mind is instantly begging my hands to find the box and pull out my new shoes which will take me God only knows where. Suddenly, while the fragrance of the past still lingers sweetly somewhere in my mind, my focus is gripped by today and tomorrow.

Yesterday matters, but not as much as today or tomorrow. Tomorrow I am going to slip into my new shoes and tighten the Velcro straps as tight as they'll get. I am going to remember that I still have breath because ahead of me lies the opportunity to glorify my King and participate in the adventure of the rebirth of everything. My old shoes can't take me there - so I'm leaving them behind and moving on anyways.

No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

Philippians 3v13-14