I’m fairly certain we can all relate to the paralyzing fear associated with feeling called to move in a particular direction.  Perhaps it’s a calling for a career change, or to move to a new city, or maybe it’s a calling to finally pop the question to your longtime girlfriend.

The fears seem to wait until after we’re convinced that we should take that big step—it’s almost as if the torrent is held back until we finally decide to move forward in courage, and then the floodwaters break and all of the fears and doubts roll in…

Perhaps those fears are of the unknown; like walking down a path that you can’t quite see the end of, and wondering if it’s safe or not.

Or worse, maybe the fears are related to going down what feels like the exact same path as one we’ve traveled previously, one where we ended up hurt, beat up, and left for dead on the side of the road.

I suppose I should distinguish between calling and abject desire, where in cases of the latter, our friends and family all collectively object to our chosen paths out of a sense of love and caring, because they can see that it’s a road that leads to destruction.

By contrast, I’m talking about that confidence deep in your gut where you know, beyond all doubt, that it’s something you’re just plan-old supposed to do.

What do we do when we feel called to enter into those murky waters?

 

Our dear friends have two beautiful children.  And a pool.  Their youngest, Will, has a game he likes to play where he stands on the edge of the pool, and with beaming eyes and a wide smile shouts “Ready, Set, GO!”  When he hears the message repeated, Will leaps with arms wide open and into the waiting arms of his father…

Will’s delight is contagious and brings smiles to all who have the joy of participating in this event, whether watching from the deck, or being the one to catch him.

The beautiful thing about Will’s game is his utter confidence in the fact that he will be caught.  I absolutely love his faith in the process.

I also love that he doesn’t jump until he knows that someone is there to catch him.

 

I had an experience like Will’s, where I shouted Ready, Set, Go for years.  I finally heard back that it was time to jump, and so jump I did.

The problem was, when I landed, I didn’t really know how to swim.  I don’t think God wasn’t there to catch me, but it sure didn’t feel like I was gathered in and brought to safety.  Maybe my arms were flailing so much that it was too hard to grab on, or maybe I just didn’t jump far enough.

I’m honestly not sure exactly what happened, but it felt like a long, slow, panicky descent into the waters.  Occasionally I would find the surface long enough for one more gasp of air before I went under again.  I felt like I flailed around for years in this state.

And right before I gave up all fight and succumbed to the drowning, God reached down and pulled me up.

 

You can imagine that one might have some trust issues after an experience like that.  I sure do.

And let me assure you that God has been holding me close for quite some time as I’ve cried, been scared, and like a child shivering in fear and cold, I’ve needed comfort and reassurance. 

And in those moments, God has provided those things.  Often through other people, through their love and care, the storm clouds over my heart have begun to clear up, and things have slowly become warm again.

And because of that, for some strange reason, I feel compelled to walk ever so slowly to the side of the pool.  I know there are no guarantees that I’ll be safe this time either, but trust is only rebuilt by trying again, and so I’m sticking my toes over the edge, wiggling them to feel the curvature of the cement, and about ready to jump in again.

Because I know that after all is said and done, I’m still alive and kicking, stronger and wiser than before.

I also know that anytime we jump, if it’s for the right reasons, good always seems to come out of it.  Good has come out of the pain I suffered—I’ve grown in humility and wisdom, and my marriage is stronger as a result of our shared experiences.  Good happened in others’ lives as a result of me jumping; even though I could barely see it at the time, my eyes have been slowly opened recently, and it’s been reassuring to know my previous “jump” was not completely in vain.

And I also know that life is not lived on the sidelines.  That those who actively participate are the ones who effect change in lives, in hearts, and even in entire social systems.

And so I stand at the water’s edge, staring down with an honest fear that things might go south again, but with the shortness of breath that comes with nervous excitement, and I rehearse my words:

 

Ready.

Set.

Go…