I was flipping TV channels one night a few weeks ago when I saw a commercial for the "Urban Mountain Challenge". The NBC station was inviting people to come down to the Fifth Third Bank, referred to by almost everyone who lives in Lexington as "the big blue building", on the last Saturday in January and climb the 30 flights of stairs to the top. All proceeds would go to a local charity, and I'm pretty sure the announcer said something about "champagne and spectacular views of the city" waiting for us once we finished the race.
I leapt off the couch, dashed to my computer, and logged onto the LEX 18 website. One of my New Year's resolutions is to do at least one thing that challenges me every month. I don't know about you, but climbing 30 flights of stairs on a chilly Saturday morning in the middle of winter seems pretty challenging to me. I had just started filling out the registration form when the voice of reason kicked in:
"Who are you kidding? You really want to give up your Saturday, the only day of the week when you don't have to wake up at 6:00 a.m.? Besides, you can't even jog around the block without feeling like your chest is about to explode!"
OK, so taking part in this year's "Urban Mountain Challenge" would probably not have been the wisest decision I ever made, and I'm glad my senses came back to me before I finished registering. (I can see it now: I would've needed breaks after every few flights of stairs to throw up!)
I'm typically not one to step outside my comfort zone. I'm the guy who goes to Outback and orders the exact same meal every time: a 6-ounce sirloin, well-done; a loaded baked potato; a house salad with honey mustard dressing; and a Coke. It's the reason why I avoid roller coasters that go upside down and why you will probably never find me bungee jumping or skydiving.
Some people would call that kind of life boring; I call it safe.
I know taking risks and turning over control of our destinies are major pieces of this messy journey we call faith. I tell everyone my future is in God's hands, it could go any way He chooses, and I'd be perfectly OK with that. But the truth is, that absolutely terrifies me. Sure, I'm inspired whenever I hear stories of people who walk away from promising careers, say good-bye to family and friends, and sell everything they own to go overseas to do mission work; but deep down, I feel my anxiety rising, and I start pleading with God to never ask me to make those kinds of sacrifices and to let me hang onto my comfortable life for as long as possible. I think of all the risks I've taken that haven't ended well -- jobs I interviewed for but didn't get, relationships I pursued that didn't pan out, dreams I deeply invested in that fell apart -- and I vow to do whatever it takes to avoid experiencing that kind of pain again.
Some of you know that I'm currently part of a grant through the University of Kentucky and Yale University to pilot a new therapy for traumatized children and their families. Once every four months, I fly to New Haven to receive hands-on training from the doctors and the therapists who developed this particular counseling model. It's exciting and overwhelming at the same time: working so closely with people who have been in the field of child trauma longer than I've been alive, wondering if I will ever be half as good at this as they are.
And I realized, as I flew home from Yale this weekend, maybe I've been thinking about this whole "taking risks" thing wrong. Certainly, once my grant ends, it will make a wonderful addition to my resume; and it could open the door to some amazing opportunities down the road. But what matters even more is the process -- what I'm gaining right now, both professionally and personally, through the work I'm doing with UK and Yale. And I'm beginning to see that, when God calls us to take leaps of faith in our journeys, He is far more interested in how we grow and who we become through that process than He is in simply getting us from point A to point B.
Taking risks always gives us an opportunity to grow, to be stretched and shaped in ways that never would have been possible otherwise. That's what I keep telling myself anyway, as I look at the barely-used running shoes resting on my closet floor. Maybe going for a jog around the block today (or at least, trying to jog) wouldn't be such a bad idea. Maybe the greatest leap of faith happens when we lace up our running shoes and head out the door, one foot in front of the other, believing we have Someone who will be there for us every step of the way.
And what God keeps reminding me, time and time again, is He will be.
Trust me. Better yet, trust Him.
