The choice to leap is a dangerous one. This my heart told me, as I stood on the edge of the cliff mid-summer, looking down at the swimming hole beneath the waterfall. Was the water deep enough? What if I stumbled and fell in at some unusual angle? What if I did not jump far enough, and my limbs hit the rocky ledge? Though assured of safety by those who had leapt before me, my body did not trust- delivering its persistent protest with rapid heart beat, flip-flopping stomach nerves, and sweaty palms.
I made my way back to safer ground, still determined to jump… my own way. I was not alone, but accompanied by my 8 year old daughter. I knew that she was watching everything I did, and overcoming my own fear would offer her an example of bravery and courage. So together we practiced. Our friends led us to a lower ledge, and there we took our first jump.
Little by little, we climbed to higher ledges, until we were at last ready to leap from the highest rock. Taking the leap, I felt the free fall descent-- first through air and then deep water. Woo hoo! I shouted, emerging from the depths, the voice of exhilaration escaping my body.
This experience of answering the invitation of the water, and letting go of fear, is one that has followed me into other leaps this Fall, especially my work as a hospital chaplain intern. My clinical pastoral education (CPE) supervisor has said that even as we grow in skill, we should never become too comfortable. That the sweaty palms and the stomach butterflies will come back, again and again, and that this is the important work of being a chaplain.
In beginning this work, I have known great fear and trepidation, and I have also known the grace of surrender and letting go. Each time I approach a patient’s room, I approach the unknown-- the man or the woman on the other side, his or her story yet to be told. I approach places where great grief, or fear, or pain reside. What if I stumble and hit the edge?
But what I have found in moving through that fear is a tremendous capacity for grace. I have found the sacred encounter of our shared humanity, the stories of life and spirit that emerge in our time together, the intimate connections-- like a hand reaching out to squeeze mine. With each encounter I am moved: to climb a step higher, to leap a bit farther, to dive a little deeper.
I have seen great pain and loss- the tears of a father who has lost his grown daughter; the fear of a woman who will lose a part of her body to cancer; the heartbreak of a man who sees the reflection of the woman he loved who has died in his little girl’s eyes. But it is also here, in the eyes of his beloved child, that he finds his meaning to go on.
It is there, in daring to gaze deep into the things that scare us, that we find our way. To be honest, we never really let go of fear. My supervisor told me too that “letting go” is not something we strive to do; rather, we simply cease to give our energy to the fight of holding on.
And so I pray-- May I allow the grace of this life to be, to enter into the places of heartbreak and joy with all I am. May I know fear, discomfort, trepidation still-- but may I cease to offer them the power they crave-- that I may know the beauty in broken places, and share it with another.
Opening my hands to the sky, I leap-- allowing the cool, cool waters to embrace me in the fall.
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