When I was little I did many daring things…and to some extent still do. Mostly because I had a mom would knew my capabilities and believed in me. She was determined to not let her own fears dictate my own. So if I wanted to try something she was one of the first to encourage me even at her own nervousness for me. My flying leap of faith?
Jumping off a high dive at 9 years old.
Here’s the thing. I’d been eying that dive for that summer, possibly even two summers. My mom a former lifeguard knew it. She also knew that I had an affectionate side for learning new things also credited to her making learning fun. I’d been swimming for years at that point as mom who loved water also knew the dangers of water. She was determined that I and my sister would know how to swim at a very young age. While she did and could teach us, we also had instructors licensed to teach in the public pools.
Nevertheless, for all the teaching mom would have us over and over practiced two things. Blow bubbles and how to hold our breath. After that came how to float. Those three critical things have often made a difference in my swimming.
Everything else came later and she fine tuned them. She knew I wanted to dive off that high diving board. She trained me to dive sitting down. Then standing. Moved on to the regular diving board under protection of my instructors and her watchful eyes. When she was satisfied and only when she was satisfied I had the skills to necessary to do the high dive was I allowed to do so. She consulted the lifeguards and the instructors. That summer? I took my first jump.
Here’s the thing there was a bit of fear as I stood over the board even as I trained there were moments of little fears. Moments ago, I had been instructed how to jump, keep my toes pointed, and when to start swimming upwards. Yet, I looked for my mom connecting with her eyes. At her smile and nod, excitement coursed through me, and I gathered my trainings putting them into practiced.
And I jumped.
I remembered the elation I felt the wind ripped upwards. My feet pointed slicing through the water. The force of water covered me as I plunged down. My head popping up from the water. The sheer ecstaticness of following through despite my fear.
Here’s the thing. I wanted to jump off the high dive. Surrounded by people who believed in me, I allowed myself to train. Under their guidance I advanced. I didn’t just get up one day and jump off. No. It was work to do the very thing I wanted to do. And I had to prove myself not just to my instructors who would be my spotters down below when I jumped, not just to my mom, but to myself that it was worth the training.
I never dove off a high diving board again. But that moment has stuck with me. Having the right people around me matters. People who were willing to believe in me, some of them invested their experience and wisdom into me, and others saw the success of months of training that happened “overnight”. It was a community effort, but only I could just jump…it started and ended with me.
So it is with decision of having faith over fear. It starts and ends with your decision. Sometimes it’s a collimation of trainings to get to that pivotal moments.
In others (rare) times, you just jump no training, no nothing, just jump. BUT I caution you….use this sparingly. This is NOT done willingly nilly. Understand there is a price and sometimes a steep on for not counting the cost. Nevertheless…jumping into faith is never a wrong decisions when lead by the Holy Spirit. Today, whether you’re in the beginning, middle, or nearing the end of your decision of faith…remember to also enjoy the journey. Finishing is a beautiful gift, but it’s the middle that kept you going.