Show me a boy that didn’t think he was Evil Knievel, or some incarnation of him, and I’ll show you a girl! Now, before you go getting all outraged, give me a moment to complete the thought. I am not making a sexist statement, nor am I calling your boy a girl. I am simply saying that in the heart of every young boy, there is a daredevil.
As I child I was a total kamikaze. In fact, by the time my age entered the realm of double digits, I suspect my hospital file was larger than that of my fathers, mothers, and sisters combined. In retrospect, it’s no small wonder that Children Services never paid us a visit!
When I was a kid, I had an unexplainable fascination with jumping things, and jumping off things. Perhaps it was all an experiment in testing the laws of gravity. Perhaps it was a Superman complex – be honest, at some point we’ve all dawned red underwear and a cape and believed we could fly! Maybe it can be attributed to little more than, “boys will be boys.”
Name it, I jumped off it. I used to do flying elbows off the top bunk onto my sisters stuffed animals, and, perhaps, my sister – but only once or twice. One of my first bone breaks came after a flying leap off the bleachers at the local ball diamond. As a war wound – a nasty dislocated elbow with bone nearly protruding through the skin! I, of course, thought it cool. My mother, well, lets just say she felt differently.
When I was on my bike, I jumped things. When I was on my skateboard, I jumped things. In fact, a couple of my friends and I built ramps for both, specifically for the purpose of jumping things! On my dirt bike, I jumped things – one time unsuccessfully, leading to my first concussion and yet another broken bone. On my grandpa’s 3 wheeler, yes, you guessed it, I jumped things!
As a child I knew nothing of responsibility. Consequence was an after thought that usually involved a trip to the ER, ice cream and signatures on a cast. Sure there was pain, but to a young child, it was the stuff legends were made of! I had great stories of grand adventures to tell my schoolmates, and the broken bones, casts, bandages, and scars to back them up!
Jumping was about the thrill. About the freedom. It was about a sensation rooted in your belly that tingled all the way through you to the ends of your fingers and toes. It wasn’t about the landing. It was about the moment between the leap and the landing! That is where the fun was found, and as a child you didn’t know any better to think about the rest.
Oh how I long to be a child! Adults don’t jump. Why? Simply put, we think too much. We over analyze. How far is the jump? What is at the bottom of the jump? What will I land on? Will it hurt? Will it break something? Will I break something!? Will I get sued? Will I miss time at work? What are the hidden consequences? What will it ultimately cost me?
How many opportunities have you watched slip through your fingers because you were afraid to jump? How many times have you watched a door close before your very eyes because you spent too much time thinking and not enough time jumping? How many “do-overs” have you have asked for? How many regrets do you have?
Over the past couple of days I’ve thought about this a lot, and what I’ve decided is this… as a child, I was fearless. I was fearless because I didn’t know any better. As an adult, I’m fearful. I’m fearful because I think I know better. Take note of the most important word in that sentence… think! I’m not fearful because I know better, I’m fearful because I think I know better!
My fearless childhood gave me a truckload of memories and great stories to tell. My fearful adulthood, thus far, has given me a truckload of missed opportunities because I’ve been too busy playing it safe.
Sometimes you’ve just gotta jump. Leap of faith. It makes sense to me now. Going for it without having all the answers. Taking a chance, not knowing for sure what the outcome will be. Jesus told us to have a childlike faith. I get it. As a child I jumped because I could. As an adult, I want the same.
Jumping out of an airplane without a parachute is simply never a good idea. But sometimes we do need to take chances we might not have otherwise took. A leap of faith. Faith to leap, and let God take care of the rest. Are you willing to jump, without knowing where you’ll land? From now on, with a childlike faith, `I want to be willing to try!
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