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| 2011 |
I thought we were friends. She knows what fraidy cat I am. The only thing she could have done to come closer to giving me a heart attack was to post pictures of a snake. My friends know. They sign a sort of prenuptial-friendship agreement. If you wanna remain friends, it's easy: no snakes!
Just
ask the ones that have violated the 'no snakes' clause. They'll tell
you breaking up is hard to do when the break up is over violation of
that clause. Now it looks like I'mma have to add a 'no sky diving'
clause.
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| Courtesy A. Hughes |
We
talked about pushing ourselves beyond our fraidy cat limits and how
change follows like dominoes. I tried to cover up the ugly truth
about how I really felt. If I had to admit it, I was just a
teeny-tiny, eensy-weensy bit jealous. Jealous of her backbone. I
thought it was a big fat hairy deal to get on an airplane. She got on
and jumped out at
14,000 feet.
Show off.
My unremarkable flight was the gift of change that keeps on giving. I can only imagine that her escapade is going to reap much larger rewards over a much longer period of time. So, I asked, “How do you think you've changed after taking on such a daunting experience?”
Her face went somber. The staccato of conversation and laughter softened to a hushed and pensive quiet. I watched emotions flit across her face as she organized her thoughts and took stock of them:
You
know, I am different. I have recognized sin in my life. It's
something that has haunted me all my life. Somehow, I see it now like
I never have before. I have always been the kind of person who
listens to the opinions of others and takes stock of myself in light
of what they say. If I heard anything negative, I immediately
identified with it and adopted it as my own failing.
It was as if I had Velcro strips all over me. I wore those and waited for any negative label to come zinging toward me. Every time I heard one float through the air, I'd grab it and plaster it on even if it didn't apply to me. Somehow, I'd find a way to make it apply and accept the guilt and blame for that fault, failing, or sin.
As she spoke, her hands floated through the air as if grasping words floating by. She'd pluck the invisible word out of the air and pat it down to stick it tight to a waiting Velcro strip. Maybe you had to be there, but the moment was riveting:
Pure
and simply, accepting all that guilt, all that blame was sinfulness
on my part. Taking all that on was a twisted kind of selfishness that
made me the center of my own negative universe. I was refusing to
accept the righteousness of Christ and live in peace with myself. I
feel free now. Free to live as the new creature I am: redeemed,
forgiven, made new. I am free from the selfishness that enslaved
me.
We sat back and looked at one another basking in the moment. I said, “If you realize this much so soon, can you imagine where you'll be a year from now?” Then, it was time to rush on to the next things on our never ending 'to do' lists. We hugged again as we savored the victories of life and the sweetness of new found freedoms in Christ.
In the days since, I have rejoiced over the opportunity to share her journey and her victory. I think about the unseen Velcro strips that adorn my existence and the unwanted labels they bear. The burden is heavy. I am weary from the labor. I reach down and grab one as I think of how it has haunted my days. I hear the distinct sound of Velcro tearing loose. Enough is enough. In my mind's eye, I see myself at the door of the plane. I jump. I am in a freefall to freedom.
Who knows? Maybe the next time she jumps, she won't be alone. ;-)
2 Corinthians 5:17 (Amplified Bible)Therefore, if any person is [ingrafted] in Christ (the Messiah) he is a new creation (a new creature altogether); the old [previous moral and spiritual condition] has passed away. Behold, the fresh and new has come!
My unremarkable flight was the gift of change that keeps on giving. I can only imagine that her escapade is going to reap much larger rewards over a much longer period of time. So, I asked, “How do you think you've changed after taking on such a daunting experience?”
Her face went somber. The staccato of conversation and laughter softened to a hushed and pensive quiet. I watched emotions flit across her face as she organized her thoughts and took stock of them:
 |
| Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative |
It was as if I had Velcro strips all over me. I wore those and waited for any negative label to come zinging toward me. Every time I heard one float through the air, I'd grab it and plaster it on even if it didn't apply to me. Somehow, I'd find a way to make it apply and accept the guilt and blame for that fault, failing, or sin.
As she spoke, her hands floated through the air as if grasping words floating by. She'd pluck the invisible word out of the air and pat it down to stick it tight to a waiting Velcro strip. Maybe you had to be there, but the moment was riveting:
 |
| Courtesy My Free Falling Friend |
We sat back and looked at one another basking in the moment. I said, “If you realize this much so soon, can you imagine where you'll be a year from now?” Then, it was time to rush on to the next things on our never ending 'to do' lists. We hugged again as we savored the victories of life and the sweetness of new found freedoms in Christ.
In the days since, I have rejoiced over the opportunity to share her journey and her victory. I think about the unseen Velcro strips that adorn my existence and the unwanted labels they bear. The burden is heavy. I am weary from the labor. I reach down and grab one as I think of how it has haunted my days. I hear the distinct sound of Velcro tearing loose. Enough is enough. In my mind's eye, I see myself at the door of the plane. I jump. I am in a freefall to freedom.
Who knows? Maybe the next time she jumps, she won't be alone. ;-)
2 Corinthians 5:17 (Amplified Bible)Therefore, if any person is [ingrafted] in Christ (the Messiah) he is a new creation (a new creature altogether); the old [previous moral and spiritual condition] has passed away. Behold, the fresh and new has come!
 |
| Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010 |
