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Just a typical Saturday spent jumping out of a plane
Yep, that’s right.
I jumped out of a plane. At 10,000 feet in the air.
This girl who still does not like to ride in an elevator. Who still will not ride a roller coaster that involves standing up. And who still gets scared of the dark sometimes rode in a perfectly good airplane up to 10,000 feet and then jumped out. Not to worry, I did not jump out alone. The guy strapped to my back had done this oh around 3800 times. I had nothing to worry about. And quite frankly, I was not really that scared. There was a moment when I was sitting in the plane that I was thinking, “what did I get myself into???” But then we got to the edge of plane, he said “Ready, Set, God,” and that was it. I was flying through the air.
UMMM.. COOLEST THING EVER!
60 seconds of free fall which felt like a lot longer and then whoosh.. the parachute went up and it was smooth sailing. It really felt like you were flying. And I love looking down from an airplane and seeing all the tiny houses and cars-odd I guess, but it is one of my favorite parts of flying. Even cooler to not have a huge plane enveloping you. As we slowly floated back to earth, I was relaxed and enjoying the view, totally not ready for it to end and as I landed safely back to earth, I was instantly envious of the birds. Being able to fly must be the coolest thing.
Jumping out of a plane 10,000 feet up in the air also causes you to reflect. Well, ok, most anything I do causes me to reflect because I tend to live a crazy life and jumping out of planes is just not something that everyone does. Nor even wants to do. Kinda like moving to an island or running a half-marathon. But as I landed safely back on the ground, I was reminded once again of the importance of walking by faith. I had to trust that the parachute had been correctly packaged, that the jump instructor knew was he was doing, and that he would land us smoothly so as to avoid a broken leg (ironically my biggest fear as I am currently without insurance)! And then once I was assured of all those things, I had to actually jump out of the plane. Sure most people believe that the parachute will deploy and the guy strapped to you probably does know what he is doing. But how many people actually put faith in that and jump of the plane? How many people get past watching videos or saying someday and actually do it? Maybe it is not jumping out of a plane. But what other obstacles in life are you staring at believing that everything is safe, but not putting it to the ultimate test by jumping. I can live my life as though I have faith, but until I act on that faith. Until I give beyond my means, live beyond what I believe possible, or pray bigger then I can see, am I truly living by faith? I can trust that God will do what He says, but until I jump, am I really trusting at all? Normally, I just stand there, on the edge, staring over, too scared to jump. But no more. I jumped out of a perfectly safe, decent plane with another human strapped to my back and I 100% trusted that I would land safely back on earth. How much more should I be able to trust that God has my best interests in mind?
What about you? What “planes” do you need to jump off of? What areas do you need to acting on the faith you claim to have?
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Communion as a Community
Somewhere along the line in church history we started to treat communion as a solemn, individual thing to be done in church services with soft music playing in the background to provide an atmosphere of silence and introspection. Many well-meaning churches still practice communion in this way and while there may be evidence for them to change, status quo says many will not ever give second thought to this practice. However, as I have spent some time studying church practices and the history behind them, this was one that always bothered me. When you look back at the early church, you never see them practicing communion this way. It was always reverent. It was always solemn and holy. But it was also always surrounded by a meal and the church and community and praising. It was not this individual thing done in five minutes at the end of a church service. It was a celebration and a remembrance of the body of Christ that was broken for them.
As one author writes, “Communion is not an individualistic matter; it is a body matter. We commune as a body; we come to the Lord’s table as a family. This truth is bound up in the biblical symbol of the one loaf and the one cup. “Because there is one loaf,” Paul writes, “we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf” (1 Cor. 10:17, NIV). This body dimension of communion tells us something about the mood of the meal as well. Communion is often taken in a somber mood of dismal introspection as we focus on the death of Christ. But could the proper context be one of celebration? If a shared meal were part of our communion together, it would seem so. We read in Acts that the first Christians “broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts” (Acts 2:46). Communion was an occasion of sharing with the saints and celebrating the forgiveness found in Christ.” (Mattison*)
Last time I checked, a sip of grape juice and small cracker did not constitute a meal. And rarely does the practice of communion spark excitement in me. Usually I am annoyed because it means church is going to go longer than normal. I know this is not the right response, but I am probably not alone in this feeling. However, I went along because who am I to challenge age-old church traditions. Even if those traditions may be based not in scripture, but in simply that-tradition. Until last night.
My small group and several other small groups part of my church got together for a meal and….communion. Instead of doing it on Sunday mornings, the church philosophy is to do in communal settings. Such as last night. Let me tell you, it was probably the least silent communion I have ever had. It seemed like there was at least one kid for every adult in the room. But we gathered, ate, sang, and shared communion in community. With babies, kids, and people from all different walks of life. We worshipped together and broke bread and spent the evening remembering the precious blood spilled for us on Calvary. You can argue it was against tradition or that it is un-biblical, but I will tell you, that communion had more meaning than any I have partaken in over the past several years. As I looked around the room, I saw a group of people devoted to Christ and devoted to each other. It was a family. They are the people who have your back, that encourage you, that help you grow, and that push you to a more intimate relationship with Christ. And they are the people who will share a meal and communion with you in the same breath and view as a holy intimate event.
I believe this is one thing that sets my little community apart. That makes it feel like a little more of a community and a little less like a church. While I am thankful for the Sunday morning worship and teaching, I was humbled and convicted over the heart of the people I saw last night. The heart that says “I am here for you” and the heart that desires to see God reach people who may not have ever given Him a chance. It’s part of why we do communion as a community and not as a part of our service. And its part of why I have become so instantly drawn into a group of people on the surface I have little in common with. I may not be married with kids, I may not be a long time resident of the west side, and I may be years younger, but when you meet at the cross, those things simply do not matter. The things that do were evident last night. And perhaps now I may argue that this is how communion should really happen. In community. At the level ground of the cross. Beside people you live life with. Not strangers you sit by on Sunday morning.
*http://www.auburn.edu/~allenkc/openhse/communion.html
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Being Brave Everyday
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13.1…
…miles.
Yep, that’s right.
I ran 13.1 miles.
And I did it 1:56.
Let me tell you, there are few times in my life I have been so proud. I woke up at 4:30am Sunday morning after 9 weeks of training. The day was finally here. I have sacrificed a lot the last couple months to train for this. And I was a little nervous, but as I lined up with all the other runners, I was just excited. Yes, excited about getting ready to run 13.1 miles. Another reinforcement of the fact that I am not your average person. Most people get excited about football games; me, I get excited about running long distances. I felt so good the entire race. My knees didn’t hurt and I kept up the pace I wanted to, in fact, I was consistently ahead. I finished my 5k, 10k, and 15k all faster than I thought I would. When I saw that finishing the entire thing in under 2 hours was a reality, I pushed myself all the more harder. I came into mile 11 tired, but thankfully I found a runner to pace myself with and was determined not to let her beat me. As I came down the final stretch, I sprinted to the finish, and then just about collapsed. See, I always begin my races with the goal of crossing the finish line with nothing left and this time I definitely succeeded in my endeavor. It was an incredible feeling. The biggest confidence boost you can imagine. I did it. I just ran 13.1 miles. Not only did I run it, I killed it. For a first-timer, to finish in under 2 hours, well, that’s all I could have asked for.
What they fail to tell you is that the next 24 hours are brutal. I didn’t sleep a wink last night because every time I moved, I woke up due to the throbbing in my legs and everyone at work has been laughing at me as I hobble around due to muscles that are in major rebellion. I plan to spend the evening with ice on them and attempting to climb as few stairs as possible as this event brings tears to my eyes. Literally. I also will figure out a way to ensure this sort of pain does not happen again. At least not quite to this extent.
However, as usual, the pain is not enough to keep me from putting myself through this type of torture again. Next thing on the agenda is another half in April and then straight on into a marathon training program. Yep, I am crazy. Or maybe just a junkie for that feeling of accomplishment after you cross the finish line. But I figure one of these days it will come in handy. Perhaps someday I will even find someone who thinks of it as an endearing quality.
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Fall Is Here
The leaves are starting to change, the weather is getting cooler, and pumpkin and apple items are out in full swing. I love fall. It is by far my favorite season of the year. And I missed it last year. Granted, I was loving my island life, but I did miss the colors, the weather, and apple cider. And as seasons change, so does life. Last night a friend joked about what they were doing this time last year and I thought, this time last year I was working on report cards. My how time changes. In light of that, I have been very reflective over the past few days. Partly because I have been missing Anna something awful, but mostly because life is truly changing. And as each day passes, I am feeling more and more the changes and more and more like an adult. (scary!)
I do not normally like change. Ironically, as much as I love adventure, I am not much on change. I keep the same schedule, eat the same food, and have a place and spot for everything I own. On the flip side, if you leave my personal effects alone, I will try anything, go anywhere, and probably be laughing and enjoying it the whole time. A contradiction. Lover of adventure: hater of change. Yet life is changing and I am slowly learning to be ok with that.
Biggest change, I am finally feeling very settled. Something I never thought I would say nor did I ever think I wanted. After a long time of moving twice a year, living out of boxes and suitcases, and just generally not having any idea where “home” really was, I am officially unpacked, settled, and home. Granted, southern Indiana was not the place I ever thought I would call home, but as the months have passed, I can truly say that I love it here. Perhaps this will not be home forever, but for now, it is home. My apartment is fully unpacked, organized, and starting to look like home. The next item on the agenda is to paint. On the job front, this week marks that illusive 90 days which is crazy to think about. Seems like just yesterday I was interviewing and packing up to move back. I love my job too. Sure, some days are long, but I can honestly say that I really enjoy going to work each day.
Beyond that, I am re-connecting with old friends, making new, and becoming increasingly overwhelmed with how blessed I am by those relationships. Aside from Anna, my closest girlfriends live within 5 minutes of me and while we may not see each everyday, they are a constant source of laughter and encouragement. As I get older, I am so thankful for them and can honestly say I think they will be the friends I keep for the rest of my life. They are my running partners, my cheering squad, and my dinner dates. I am truly a lucky girl.
And not being one to ever sit still, I am tackling a new challenge in a little over two months-a master’s degree. Going back to school was always something I knew I wanted to do. I am a learner at heart and cannot wait to get back into the books. I know, that makes me a nerd. But I am so excited! I am also enjoying not having anything to do in my evenings as soon they will be full of classes and homework.
There are other things coming up that will provide for more blog posts.. not having Internet at home and not doing much has not given me a lot to write about, but I have a race, sky diving, and a birthday on the horizon:)
All in all, life is wonderful. I love it so much! I am so thankful for the people around me, the way God has orchestrated every detail, and even all the changes as they are maturing and growing me in ways I never thought possible.