That First Step

Since pulling into Auckland City Centre this morning, I’d been telling myself and Timmy that this tower didn’t look so tall—supposedly the tallest in the southern hemisphere. Even at it’s base, I thought this not much more than the Cedar Point rides I’d conquered.
But then we got suited up and weighed and walked in our vibrant jump suits through the crowd down to the basement “lift,” an elevator with a glass floor. As we ascended the floors, the window-lit shaft revealed we definitely were climbing to a new height. As we stepped into the glass-walled holding room, and then into the preliminary harness room, the view began to second the motion that we were up there. I refused to look straight down—only out across the city and harbor. Timmy and I had talked about how we feared this jump—our first New Zealand stunt—more than our other activities. Those words now rang in my head, purging the “it doesn’t look that tall” ones.
Both jump masters checked all my clips and straps and harness latches. Then we clipped into safety lines attached to the railing. They spun me around for a picture. Then one of the jump masters leaned out over the ledge to grab my flying harnesses, connected them, then removed my safety line. “I’m going to give you the countdown. Then you need to let go of the hand railings and then step off. We’re going to drop you a bit. Look up, and we’ll take your picture. Then we’ll release you.”
He asked if I were ready. I nodded, clutching the poles like they were my life.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
My legs felt like concrete. My hands, though sweaty, writhed to free themselves. Then–almost without thought . . . I can’t remember the thought now, as a couple frames of memory seem to be missing . . . but I was falling, then hanging, then slightly swinging. I reminded myself to look up at the jump master. I spent a quick thought about what a job that must be to hang off a 63-story ledge and take pictures of people like me.
Then I was falling.
And as Timmy can attest, at that point, it wasn’t scary at all. For the controlled fall, a wind machine battles gravity and slows you to a perfect landing (based on our respective weights) on the bulls eye below. Maybe 15 seconds from the photo to the ground. Expensive 15 seconds but well worth the price.
It made me think about faith today and how the first step is always the hardest for me. Once I’ve stepped into the sovereign direction, it gets easier to take the remaining steps. My Christianity has been a series of trust falls, hoping God will catch me. He does. Every time. And it’s always worth it.
Despite this, I struggle each time I have to take a step in a new direction He has for me. I’ve seen the cables; I’ve interviewed the veterans; I’ve checked off all of the safety precautions. But, just like today, I have to come to a place of abandon—away from the self preservation and sensible reasoning.
We’ve been talking about that at church for the last few weeks, and I’ve seen people make drastic, life-altering decisions on behalf of Christ’s kingdom. It’s easier for me to jump off the tallest building south of the equator than to offer God my career and family and lifestyle. And while I don’t believe in sacrifice without leading—that’s self-imposed penance—I want to be more open to that in the years and months and days to come. I hope lifting my heavy physical legs today and in the next couple weeks will build the spiritual recklessness I need to hear, “Well done, you good and faithful servant.”