Sky Diving and Theology of Place . . .

You ever have the wind whip through your hair as you stick your head out of a moving car? Ever CLIMB out of a moving car and perch on the window sill (not quite sure what else to call it; also, don't try this while driving. It doesn't work. Also, maybe just don't try this and take my word for how awesome it is.)

It's awesome.

And, since you can't discern tone when reading a blog, it's less a surfer dude and more a little boy with eyes wide open at the world around him . . . intelligent, but awestruck.

Or . . . what about these :

• watching the sunset over Lake Erie / Ontario / Superior / Huron, the calm breeze wrapping its arms around you, the dying embers of the day reflecting in the mirror of the water . . .
  
• reaching the summit of the biggest hill / rock / mountain you've ever been on, and turning to look at seemingly familiar terrain with new eyes from a new vantage point . . .
  
• plunging into the depths of a cave / crevasse, the fear of the unknown and the fear of the dark no match for the rush of adventure . . .
  
• the way time stands still as you ponder your decision to jump from a perfectly good plane, all the while coming face to face with your own mortality . . . the wind taking your breath, and the view take away whatever breath you might have left . . .

It's that last one that has stuck with me for a long time. Skydiving feels like the perfect analogy for my relationship with God - jumping from what seems to be safe, into what seems to want to take my life, trusting in what I cannot see yet to do what has been promised. The instructor promised me, profusely, that my chute would open. And that there was a reserve chute, should anything happen. And that all I had to do was jump properly from the plane.

Which I didn't.

That also feels a lot like me and God . . . like, all he asks of me is this one little thing, and he's doing all the real work, I just have to do what he says. And I can't even do that.

Now, normally, my need/want to excel and achieve would kick into overdrive, and I'd ramp up the effort to try and prove myself when it feels like I'm failing, but sky diving taught me something else . . .

Absent the chute, no amount of effort can stop your fall. Skydiving is NOT about your ability to stop your fall, it's about your ability to jump and trust.

Since then, the sky has been a holy place for me. I've wanted to go back. And I get physically sick (actually) if I go too long without basking in wide open expanses. I think we all have places that are significant in our lives for whatever reason, and going near them, being reminded of them, it brings us somewhere, be it good or bad . . .

I think maybe the list of places I wanna go that I've been working on? Perhaps for now it'll be less exotic, and more familiar. Maybe I need to following this ridiculous urging to jump and trust that I won't fall . . . more on that later though.

G