I'm Not Going to Fall.

A few weeks ago, I went camping with some friends at the George Washington National Forest in West Virginia. Having started this blog just before the trip, I was hoping that at some point while stargazing, hiking or sitting on top of a mountain that I would think of some fresh ideas to write about. Blogging inspiration can be hard to find, but I was excited because it seems like people are always getting epiphanies on mountains.

The change of scenery and the slower pace of the trip definitely created an incubator for my thoughts, but for whatever reason, no writing idea ever hatched while I was out there in the woods, trying hard -- perhaps too hard -- to be introspective. Upon returning from my weekend getaway and logging into my blog to reflect, I could only recall trivial little things -- like how our crew burned a log that looked just like the legendary SR-71 spy plane or how mummy sleeping bags are amazing inventions. (Actually, the spy plane firelog was pretty sweet and in retrospect I wish I had taken a photo of it to share here). Nonetheless, I felt like the writing retreat component of my camping experience never took place.

However, while mentally revisiting the trip just recently, I thought of something worth writing about.

* * *

Being a city dweller in an extremely litigious society, I'm used to seeing guard rails along any place where there is a steep drop off. I'm thankful for this too since I'm slightly acrophobic. On the mountain trail that I was on a few weeks ago though, by contrast to the heights around my town, the only thing preventing me from plunging off some scary precipice was my own footing.

I didn't take many photos during the trip, but I do have one of myself crouching atop a boulder near the summit of Big Schloss mountain. When I looked at that image again recently, my mind -- which is highly visual -- started to replay my hiking experience.

I started to remember the chalky surface of the rocks and eating craisins at the summit. But most powerfully, I remembered walking towards the edge of a cliff and having all my muscles tense up along with my nerves shooting off. Fear, that intense physiological reaction, was a big part of that memory.

I've been thinking about fear a lot recently too. I wish I could say that I only get that tingling, choking sensation of fear in my body when I'm standing at the tip of a deadly precipice, but the truth is that I'm often just as -- if not more -- fearful while sitting on my couch, where I'll be fretting about work, relationships or something else. Fear has got me pinned down, I realized. But then something awesome happened while I was still reliving that memory. The Lord spoke to me through a visual metaphor.

I saw this: I was back on the Big Schloss mountain, and as I started walking towards the edge of a cliff, I suddenly saw a helicopter hovering in front of me, the chopper blades creating a lot of wind and noise. I could see the pilot through the open cabin too, and I just knew that it was Jesus. Although I couldn't really see his face since he had the big pilot helmet, visor and everything on, I clearly heard him yell, "Relax, I got you, bro!" And I knew in that moment that Jesus wasn't going to let me fall.

If you're laughing right now, don't feel bad because so did I when I first had this "vision". The all-out pilot suit and the language that He used cracked me up. God sometimes appeals to my humor while teaching me a lesson, which in this case echoed Hebrews 2:11-13.

Now, let me emphasize that this didn't actually happen in real life; it was a visual metaphor that I saw while reliving a memory. I can't give a physical description of Jesus now, but that wasn't the point because it was all about the Lord reminding me about this principle, which is: I don't have to be fearful because Jesus is with me! Christ has set me free from living in fear because He is watching over me, and it is His presence that casts out fear, making me confident in His perfect love.

Before God gave me that message, I had actually been trying to acknowledge Jesus' presence in my life more, and I thank Him for blessing me with that image of His love for me.

I don't know when God will encourage me with another visual metaphor again, but until then, I'll be joyfully reminding myself that Jesus has already said, "I am with you always".

One Year

I’m never not going to miss you.

But it’s no longer heavy; I have the lightness

to run, to travel, to meet new neighbors.

It doesn’t feel like nothing else

is important, or joyful. There is making music,

and cooking tasty (meatless) meals,

and loving the people around me

like you did.

I don’t dread Thanksgiving, because

my gratitude is deep. I’m thankful for family,

content to sit with them eating food I don’t love,

telling stories that seem to signify little,

where before I would have been restless, unsatisfied.

I still think about you every time I drive west on the Beltway

towards Bethesda.

And every time we sing of resurrection, I sing

to your rising.

Every piano suite I play is somehow for you,

not to make up for all the songs I couldn’t remember

how to play for you and Mr. Baer at the end,

but because life is rich with the

food of music,

and you are still alive and part

of its music.