My journalism professor in college was a former Associated Press writer whose stories have traversed the globe. She told us to expect to write obituaries before working up to more prominent parts of a newspaper. So, our first writing assignment was to interview a classmate about the life they wanted to live and then write their obituary. My friend, Jen, wrote mine; and I’ll cut to the chase: I died when my bungee cord snapped.
So, it’s a bit ironic how I answer a question I’ve heard multiple times from people who discover that I love to bungee jump. “Aren’t you afraid of the bungee cord breaking?”
“No.”
I’m not.
I just got back from the highest bungy jump in Africa (currently the fourth or fifth highest bungy jump in the world), and I bought a section of retired bungy. Bungee cords have different diameters, depending on the weight range for which they will be used. I think the one I purchased is one of the smaller versions. My jump leader told me that the bungees are rated for 900 jumps but that they replace them every 300 jumps.
What you’ll notice is that the bungee cord is actually scores—maybe even hundreds—of smaller cords at the core and then wrapped in more than a dozen cords on the exterior. Even if one of the bungees would snap, the combined strength of the other cords would absorb the strain of the stretch at the end of the jump. This is a safety precaution, when leaping off a high precipice—and in my daily life back here in Central Virginia.
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 (NASB) says, “Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up. Furthermore, if two lie down together they keep warm, but how can one be warm alone? And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.”
This concept has been labeled “accountability partners,” “small (or community) groups,” “doing life together,” and “big brother, little brother” among other names. Whatever you call it, the big idea is that we weren’t designed to push through life alone. If you read the Bible’s New Testament, you will find that God designed most tasks and activities to be done in groups larger than one.
I saw this demonstrated this morning on my parking team. One of my teammates couldn’t even finish his prayer in our circle time, as his unusual tears splashed on the asphalt next to his boots. Immediately after we broke to take our positions, my good friend, John, moved toward him and started a conversation that would take them off the asphalt to John’s house for a longer discussion. Another teammate, Chris, saw the same teammate in the following church service, then texted me to say that our brother looked hurt across the aisle from him and that he texted him an encouraging word and a promise to pray for him.
Those are cords that God has intentionally and sovereignly woven together, so that through human hearts and hands he can support us.
I needed those cords last autumn. I was physically, spiritually, relationally, and financially drained. I was in an unhealthy place, and I wasn’t sharing that with anyone but my wife. Believe it or not, but I was on the verge of quitting my church’s parking team. I hadn’t told anyone that, not even the other leaders of the team.
Then I found this note from my close friend, HB. He had found the boots I wear for my early-morning duties in the dew-laden grass, torn off a piece of a box, Sharpied a note on it, and wedged it between my boots. He couldn’t have known how huge this small act would be on the morning I had gotten the closest to quitting.
I had drifted out of community. I hadn’t let the other bungees compensate for my frays. I was trying to bear the stretch and strain of my circumstances.
Thankfully, God sent someone sensitive and obedient to his prompting to encourage me, to change my course, to spark a conversation. And thankfully, I’ve got a good number of people in my life like HB, who authentically ask me on a regular basis, “How are you doing?”
The challenge, especially for those of us who consider ourselves self-sufficient, is to reach out to our friends. The reward for this vulnerability is more than refreshment. It brings a renewed sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, an appreciation of the Sovereign.
John’s text to me tonight ended with “God is working [sic] we just need each other sometimes to point it out.”
