I was exhausted the day of the jump. I had just spent 23 hours on a Greyhound and knew we would be on the road again the following day to drive up to Kentucky to check out the town where I will soon be moving to. Plus, I didn't want to think about the fact that I would jumping out of an airplane. (Please note that I am the person who hates roller coasters.) I downed a can of Monster to try to get my adrenaline pumping, to get psyched and match my mom's energy. (I got less grumpy but not very hyped.)
When I met John, the gentleman to whom I would be strapped for the jump, a lot of my tension disappeared. He immediately reminded me of Owen Wilson (or a smarter version of Hansel) and this faux sense of familiarity made me immediately trust the fact that he clearly knew what he was doing. Even the lines he repeated to both my mom and I were evidence of the fact that this was routine. Routine was good. And as were all heading up in the crowded little airplane...I felt comforted by his presence.
I changed my mind! my mom yelled as it was her turn to fall out of the plane. I recognized that tone of hers, the joke told to indicate the truth of her emotions. Out she went.
When it was my turn at the edge, I tried to remember what John told me to do. Got on my knees, lifted my hands back, waited for him to count "1...2..3..jump!" I don't think he counted. I think he pushed me off. But there I was hurtling towards the earth and those first few seconds were some of the scariest of my life...until I realized it was no more scary than being on a roller coaster. After those first few seconds of horror, I felt more relaxed than I ever have.
It never gets old, John said wistfully once the parachute was up and I could breathe like a normal person.
Would you do it again? he asked once we landed.
Yes! I replied truthfully with as much enthusiasm as I could muster to make it clear I was being honest.
In the days that followed, driving through Kentucky and Ohio, thinking about my future, I considered my skydiving future. Would I get to go back to the Atlanta Skydiving Center for another tandem dive within the next year? Isn't the next natural step learning to jump on my own...?
Oh, how I want to be that person: like the young student on the plane who launched herself forward over the edge, like the old pro who can bring the parachute sideways, spinning like a merry-go-round. But I don't trust myself as much as I trusted that stranger. And maybe that is what this is about: learning foremost to trust fully in God, and through Him learning to trust that I have strengths and abilities that I can sharpen and hone to one day be able to jump all by myself.
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