I was recently reminded of a trip I took with friends some years ago. It was sometime around mid 2017. At the time I didn’t see this as life changing, but the more I remember, the more value I attach to it. It taught me a lesson about the not so subtle art of letting go.
Let me give you a little insight. I am generally not trusting of anything that lifts me off the ground. I like to feel the ground beneath my feet, and have always ascribed this to my desire to be firmly planted; a reasonably cheeky way of masking my fear of heights.
Zip lining. That was the activity for the day. It was about an hour or so long journey, weaving through trees, something they call tree trekking. I was not amused, but how could I possibly be the kill joy of the group? Unbecoming. I had to participate, else I run the risk of being the butt of the joke for years to come. There was a significant physiological response to this jungle themed affair, increased heart rate, blood pressure, breathing rate, everything! But c’est la vie, because this group…not exactly the most forgetful bunch.
It started off pretty rocky, with my eyes permanently fixed on the distance between the make shift steps, and the ground. So much so that I fought the urge to blink. For some this is cheap thrills, for me I was lucky not to wet my pants. Anyways that continued for a while. However, at some point I looked up, and realized just how far I had trekked. The views were beautiful, and captivating enough to distract me from how much higher I was going, as I continued on.
Eventually, we got to the end of the trek, and I had to zip line my way back down. I watched my friends jump with child like glee. Me, the adult me with lived experiences, some good and others bad, could not see the joy in this. But again, what choice did I have? So I braved it, and jumped. It was anything but graceful. A frightmare to be exact. I felt like a limp biscuit, but at least I was off the ledge, right? I zipped to a point, holding on to the rope with every bit of life in me. But somewhere along the line, I forgot myself and mistakenly let go to scratch an itch. Best mistake ever! In that moment, I got a miraculous confidence boost, and no longer felt the need to strangle the poor rope. For 2.5 seconds, I let go, and my days was it the most thrilling experience ever.
Why is this story relevant?
Even though the zip line rope thingy had proved itself time and time again with my friends, I had trust issues. Somehow I felt that my case would be different, which was the foothold for a swamp of lies. It is laughable the things that ran through my head. I thought, hmmm of the bunch, I probably weigh the most. There is absolutely no way that thing can handle all this. Then I thought, hmmmm that rope must be so tired now that ten others have gone ahead of me. Then I thought, ya the instructor kinda looks shifty. He may just get distracted, and call time at the wrong time. Then I thought, I will be the one to jump off, and most definitely meet with the trunk of a disgruntled tree that’ll appear out of nowhere. There’s more, but let’s end the mumbo jumbo here.
In the same way, it is laughable when we think that God, in all His majesty, power, might and glory is not strong enough to carry our weight, or reliable enough to keep to His word, or creative enough to bring us out of entangled/messy situations. It is halfwitted to forfeit His stabilizing truth, for the unscrupulous lies of the enemy.
This story is relevant because I was reminded that it starts with me, and so I thought to graciously remind you also that it starts with you. Mind your mind. Do not give the devil a foothold \Eph. 4:27|, or he’ll play tennis with you.
Go ahead, scratch that itch. Trust that He is faithful to the very end.