While on my very very very very long drive from Seattle to Austin last week, I was reminded of the first time I went rappelling…
Early in the morning, we parked our church vans full of students near the base of the cliffs. After our guides went over some safety precautions and got it all set up, we got started. From the ground below, it didn’t look so bad. We could make out the faces and expressions of each person as they stepped up to the edge. Some descents were quick and confident, others were slow and cautious. No one died.
I watched several others go. I had a mid-morning snack. I watched some others go. I had lunch. I watched some others go. For the second and third time.
Truthfully, I wasn’t that nervous. Until I climbed up for my turn. All those people who seemed to be normal sized when I had been gazing up now looked horrifically small as I peered down. Most unnerving was the ground below, or lack thereof. Standing above, you can’t see it. Knowing that it had been there before I went up provided little comfort as I backed over the edge.
It seems that I survived.
As our family moves to a new city with dreams of starting a new church movement in Austin, it’s kind of like that. We’ve seen others do this. But now, we stand at the edge, wondering what’s below. It would be nice to know what it looks like down there, but the only way to find out is go over the edge.