Some of the best times I spent with my kids when they were young occurred in the little Colorado town of Winter Park. I've written about the town before, and anyone who knows me knows how much I love it there. I've never been to Colorado without my children, so sometimes I wonder if I would enjoy it as much were I to travel there alone ... hmmmm ... perhaps I need to go and find out, huh? I've got a ton of memories of special times in Winter Park with my three children ... Meghann catching the biggest trout when we went fishing; Brad flying down the track on the Alpine Slide like a madman; Matt being thrown from a horse that got spooked on the trail and all of us howling laughing at the look on his face. Sweet, sweet times I had with my three kiddos in the mountains of Winter Park ... sweet, sweet times for sure.
One particular memory from a summer vacation to Winter Park has been stuck in my mind for the last couple of days, a memory of a whitewater rafting trip the kids and I took ... the first rafting trip we had ever taken. The rapids part of the trip down the river scared me more than a little, and I was quite happy when our guide steered our raft to the calmer water near the shore. Well ... I was happy until he asked if we wanted to climb up the rocky cliff and throw ourselves off the edge of Jump Rock. While I immediately said, "No way on earth," my children were already climbing out of the raft to scurry up to the top of Jump Rock. I nervously watched as Brad jumped first ... that boy always has been a daredevil. Meghann followed closely behind Brad ... my only girl would never let her brothers get one up on her. And then it was Matt's turn ... and then it was Matt's turn ... and then it was Matt's turn. He stood at the edge of Jump Rock and peered over the side and watched Brad and Meghann climb out of the water. He took a couple of steps back, and I thought for sure I could see him shaking as the guide said, "Come on, man, you can do it! Ready, set ... jump!" And I could hear Matt saying, "Ready, set, umm ... wait ... I'm not ready."
There have been a lot of times over the past few months when I've wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "Ready, set, umm ... wait! I'm not ready! I'm not ready at all." Times when I've been terrified of jumping off the rock and into the swirling water below me ... times when I've wanted to turn around and climb down and get back to the safety of the boat ... times when I wasn't even sure whether I was standing at the edge of the rock or swimming in the icy water or sitting in the boat. Maybe for the first time since the day Matt stood on Jump Rock all those years ago, I understand what my son must have felt. I get what it is to know I should jump while being completely paralyzed with fear as to what may happen if I do. I know how fast my heart pounds, how sweaty my palms get, how large the lump grows in my throat, how knotted my stomach becomes ... I know. For the first time, I understand what my son must have felt as he stood at the edge of the rock.
So here's the thing ... Matt eventually jumped off of Jump Rock, due in large part to the encouragement he received from the rafting guide and his brother and sister. In fact, he jumped off of the big rock several times. And each time he did, he was less afraid and more confident that he wouldn't hit the rocks on the side of the cliff or drown in the murky river water below. Each time Matt jumped, he found that he was more courageous than he thought he was ... that he was braver than he thought he was ... that he was stronger than he thought he was. Each time Matt jumped, he believed in himself more and more and more.
I think maybe life is a series of Jump Rocks ... times when I need to take a leap of faith ... times when I need to trust in the direction God is leading me ... times when I need to just jump off of the rock and into the arms of my Lord. My prayer tonight is that instead of saying, "Ready, set, umm ... wait," I'll say, "I'm ready, God ... I'm ready ... I'm set ... I'll jump."
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