To Leap or to Fall

Almost two years ago, a family of my acquaintance invited a group of young men, self included, to come join them for games and barbeque. The festivities commenced on a lovely piece of property they had recently acquired and were planning to build a house on. The foundation was begun, but the only thing actually built was the tree-fort, in a large tree overhanging a truly poem-worthy stream.

I climbed up through the trap-door in the floor. Who can resist a tree-fort? Then I went one further and went up over the railing onto an outstretched branch.

I had begun working out regularly not too long before, so I might have been feeling more confident than usual in my upper-body strength. For whatever reason, I decided to grab one of the side-rails and swing down to the ground.

Now, many foolish errors I may have made, but I don’t generally do stupid physical things. I’ve never been recognized chiefly for my incredibly muscular physique, and I know my limitations. This was something I was absolutely capable of doing with perfect safety.

The problem was introduced when the rail came loose from the side of the tree.

My two-by-four hit the ground.

I missed the ground and fell further, maybe ten feet in all, to land—on my head and shoulders—in the stream, where three or four inches of burbling water was less than sufficient to cushion the stones beneath.

Ouch.

My upper back was the recipient of the rough equivalent of a rug-burn. I bit my tongue, hard, as I fell, and could taste a quantity of blood in my mouth. I was only wet above the waist; my legs were stretched up along the bank toward the tree. But the rest of me got wet as I tried to get up, and two or three of my friends (noticing from the corners of their eyes the flash as my body suddenly relocated itself from the branch to the stream-bed) came and helped me back up the side.

Then there was the continuing twinge in my back whenever I sat down too quickly. The chiropractor made a lot of money on that one. Later on, when the headaches started happening, so did the D.O. (bone/skeleton doctor). Although I’m relatively re-assembled, the effects of the fall have never been quite fully eradicated.

So I’m a little nervous when I find myself in some insecure high place. I made myself go down a zipline last May, partly because I knew it would be fun once I actually got started, partly because I didn’t want to give in to fear. (Yes, it was fun.)

And a few days ago I was ambling along beside the same stream. (I actually live now in an apartment built on part of that foundation I mentioned.) Climbing up into the tree-fort, I went out on the branch—admittedly, more cautiously than last time. It was my second visit to that tree-fort, and my second time on that branch.

So I jumped.

It’s not that far down, if you don’t fall in the stream. Not an amazing leap. A little rough on the ankles, but no big deal. But it was something I thought I should do.

* * * * *

There are times when rock climbers find themselves halfway up a cliff face, clinging to cracks invisible from the ground—and unable to reach the next handhold.

They could try to climb down; but that’s not nearly as easy as it might sound. If they hang there indefinitely, they must (sooner or later) fall. Since my readers are people of intelligence and taste, you have probably realized the only other option:

They jump.

Believe it or not, there is a name for this; it is called a “dyno.” The intrepid (if slightly insane) climber shoves off with his legs; he prevents falling to his death by means of his outstretched arms. He must keep his eyes fixed carefully on his goal, the handhold that will enable him to continue toward the top.

It’s a great move, really, except for the possibility that the climber might miss.

* * * * *

The other night, a friend of mine said she believes many mature, Godly men are afraid of investing themselves in younger men. They find it easier to criticize than to build a relationship, to take a risk.

Many young men (and older men who remember being young) will recognize the fear of initiating a relationship with a young woman. “I could be rejected!” “I could get hurt!” In more selfless moments, real or feigned, “I might hurt her!” It can be frightening to take such a risk.

And what about being vulnerable, honestly telling an accountability partner (another man) about your sins and struggles? What about openly discussing these things in order to encourage or counsel? It’s a risk.

But I believe God calls us to be risk-takers. As men, specifically (and we will explore this further in later posts), God calls us to courage.

I wonder. What are we as men afraid of? What is the branch we crouch on, the fissure we cling to, afraid of landing head-first on rocks and never recovering?

What if we must leap or fall?