From thousands of feet in the air, I found myself looking down at the Indiana countryside, wind rushing past my face through an open airplane door. My palms wet with sweat, heart thumping, and legs trembling, I braced myself for what came next.
“Okay, you have to jump!” the skydive instructor, who I was securely fastened to like Velcro, yelled, so I could hear him over the vaccuum-like sound of the wind. You might be asking yourself, how did she get here? And trust me, I was asking myself the same question.
Well here’s the answer for you. Eight years ago, we went sky diving for my husband’s 30th birthday with a group of friends. I went because I knew that my dare-devil husband really wanted to jump out of a plane (I don’t seek thrills as much as him, but I definitely wanted to support him), so here I was.
I can’t do this. What if something happens? What if the parachute doesn’t work? How did I ever think this was a good idea? These were just a few of the thoughts swirling around in my head. At that moment, I had only one choice—to jump, and I was terrified.
I haven’t felt that terrified for a long time, until a year ago when depressive thoughts consumed my mind. Everyone’s lives would be better off if you weren’t here. You are so inadequate. You have no worth. No one would care if you were gone. Why should you keep living? Much like jumping out of a plane, I was on the precipice of the biggest downfall in my life and I had to decide how I was going to jump—securely fastened to another or on my own.
Just like in the plane, my hands shook and heart raced. In this moment, I knew I needed to be courageous, just as I was on the edge of the plane. It was essential for me to tell someone my thoughts; for survival, I needed to be securely fastened, just as I was to my skydive instructor, as I jumped into the free-fall of healing.
And yet, these thoughts followed: what if he thinks less of me? These thoughts are too scary to share with anyone. He won’t ever understand. No one can possibly help me. Because of the fear of rejection, it was tempting to keep my thoughts to myself, letting them multiply. Bravely and with the strength of Jesus, I took a step of courage. In a quivering voice, I spoke aloud to my husband the thoughts reeling through my mind. And together, securely fastened like Velcro, we stepped off the wing of the plane, beginning the free-fall of healing.
Preciously loved and divinely created friend, it is tempting to believe that we can jump out of the plane on our own. If you are in that crucial place of deciding how to proceed, I’ve been there. And I pray that you choose to be courageous. I pray you fasten yourself like Velcro to a trusted friend, spouse, family member, pastor, or counselor, as you safely fall into healing.
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