Risk

"Then the time came when the risk it took
To remain tight in a bud was more painful
Than the risk it took to blossom.."
-Anais Nin

What do I do with risk? As a young girl, it wasn't ever really a challenge for me...not too much. I was a wanderer in stores, free-spirited with strangers, thought I could fly if I had enough faith. Oh yes. I would attempt flight almost every day, weather permitting. I would stand perched on the end bars of our metal painted swingset, close my eyes tight, stretch out my arms and repeat in my head "Faith as a mustard seed, faith as a mustard seed..." and then...Jump! Jump as high as I possibly could. My long hair would catch the wind as I fell gently to earth once more and landed with a thump and a tangle of arms and legs on the cool grass. I flew. I believed I flew.

So, what happened? Years would go by and risk became a real word to me. I would run inside afraid when people I didn't know would come to the door. They might kidnap me. I loved traveling to new places in highschool just for the opportunity to risk...but I rarely took it. I remember two significant times I had to muster up some bravery in me...interestingly enough, they were both with my best friend of those days. She was a girl who knew no risk...Risk was a puff of wind to her.

The first, I overcame a fear of drowning and went tubing down a creek. I was at our annual summer camp. Four girls and a counselor trampled over the gravel walkway, careful to not wake anyone as we each grabbed an innertube from the shed wall. It had rained the night before and we promised ourselves...I a little hesitantly...that if it stormed we would tube the creek early before anyone else was awake. So there I was, my jeans rolled up to my knees, innertube held up around my waist...looking down the long dark rolling water before me. It really wasn't that deep...but it was fast. And it was fun...until I got stuck in a stagnant pool of still water off to the side. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but one by one the girls swirled past me laughing and shouting at me to push out. Push out? With what? My feet weren't touching anything below me, there were no branches close enough to give me any leverage. In my mind, I was stuck. I lifted myself to reach with my toes down as far as I dared...nothing but wet space. And suddenly, my heart froze. I would have to risk falling through my tube in order to get back into the current...nope. Not gonna do it. No way. Just then, my best friend came rolling by.
"Reach out for my hand!"
"You're gonna be too far for me." I yelled back. She laughed at my predicament. In spite of my fear, her laughter gave me courage and I pumped my feet back and forth below me, my innertube turning in circles...here she came....risk it...get up off your butt and lean out over that deep pool below you...reach, reach, reach,...

The second time was when I spent the night...the entire night...out in a tent in the middle of some woods. She was there with me and had even done this by herself. That night, it thunderstormed. Our tent blew around us and we huddled closer in half-sleep willfully making it until morning. When my eyes opened to sunlight peeking through the tent seams and I realized I'd made it, I felt that I had done something...I don't know...something significant

Neither of these scenarios may have been really dangerous, but for me at the time they were huge. I remember how the fear felt. I remember the moment of decision: I'm not giving in.
Had I not had these two experiences of little risk, I don't think I could have been brave enough to fall in love. I mean really in love...the kind of love that makes you walk that tight wire and jump out on the evidence of true faith you cannot see. But that's another story. Without these little steps of courage, I could in no way wake every day and face the incredible task of mothering my son, who by the way exhibits risk moment by moment.
Without the courage to reach over one of my deepest fears to catch my friend's hand...without having braved the storm in the woods...without risk...my faith would die. Without faith, I couldn't fly. And I did fly. I did.

Introductions

Beginning a blog is harder than previously thought...let me start by saying that this blog's purpose is to be a record of my freedom from generational bondage and my captivity to Jesus Christ.

It's not an easy task...rebuilding ruins. I begin by studying them.