Sunday, January 19, 2014

“None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust. Because we have Faith.” ― Paulo Coelho

When I was a little boy, like most little boys, I loved to climb.  I would climb stairs, ladders, trees, anything that my hands and feet could use to get me off the ground and higher and higher.  Now, growing up in West Texas where there are no trees that grow naturally and everything is very, very flat, it wasn’t hard to get high enough to see for miles and miles.  We had a neighbor who had a large tree in his yard—one his father had planted years and years ago.  He was very fond of that tree and would not allow any of us neighborhood kids to climb it.  Well, that was just like waving a red flag in front of bull for me.  So one evening, after he had gone inside (he liked to sit on his porch and watch the sunset), I slipped into his yard and started climbing that tree.  The first branches were too far off the ground for me to reach, so I dragged a lawn chair over and used it to get to the first branches and started climbing, unaware that I had knocked the lawn chair over as I pushed off.  It was wonderful.  It was spiritual.  I climbed higher and higher.  I climbed high enough to see the sunset again over the roof of his house.  I found a good, sturdy branch and just sat and enjoyed myself.  Eventually, it got dark.  We were allowed to play outside until it got dark (a far cry from today), so it wasn’t long before I heard my mother calling for me.  Sadly, I slowly began climbing down.  As I got to the lowest branches I realized the chair was gone and so was my way down.  It wasn’t too far to the ground, but it looked like it was a mile away.  It was also very dark.  There were no street lights and our neighbor had turned off his porch light, and by now it was so dark, I could not even see the ground below.  I got on my stomach and then slowly slipped over the branch until I was hanging by my hands, but I couldn’t let go.  Fear had frozen me and locked my hands onto that branch.  My arms ached, but my hands would not let go.  Then, I heard my father’s voice below me.  “Just let go, son.  I’ll catch you.”  He had to say it about three times before I would let go, but I did and fell into his waiting arms.  He said nothing on the way home and we never spoke of it again, but that night I learned to trust.  Many, many years later, I would let go of a metaphorical branch that marked the lowest point in my life and drop into the waiting arms of my Heavenly Father who I had just learned truly loved me and wouldn’t let me fall.  It’s what Soren Kierkegaard called “the great leap of faith.”  I just call it “trust.”
Post a Comment