Bri K

For over a year I feel like I’ve been standing at the edge of a pool and the Lord keeps saying, “Jump.” I’ve never known more intimate moments than when I’m poised in this place, waiting for the word and His arms to catch me. It’s not so much about the pool itself, but whether I trust that He’s in the pool, ready to catch me. The pools have been different shapes and sizes, depths and breadths, but He keeps saying “Jump” and I keep jumping. I feel like I am standing at the edge of the pool again and what I had hoped a year ago was a big jump that would open up new doors inside of me and in front of me, has seemingly left me back where I started and sometimes feeling a bit worse for the wear. And this time, I have no clue what the pool is or even where it is, I just know that I’m standing at the edge again, looking for the pool that seems invisible, knowing He’s asking me to jump, but seeing nothing below me but concrete. I’m not discouraged, at least not today. I’m excited for the jump, sometimes scared, sometime weary of jumping, but still excited. The thing is, I’m left holding all these pieces of experiences this past year, not quite sure what their purpose was, how they fit together and certainly unsure as to what direction they point. As no other time in my life I am at a loss.

Since elementary school I’ve had goals and dreams. They’ve changed over the years, but I’ve always been a dreamer. Right now though, I’m stumped because all the doors that opened for me to walk through have led to new doors that have turned out to be closed doors and I don’t even know where to knock anymore. And it’s okay, I’m just stumped, knowing that I’m supposed to jump to Him, but having no clue what that means right now. And the thing is, I’ve lived a lot of my dreams already and there’s nothing left that I want to do alone. I have a lot of life I want to live, a lot I want to become, a lot I want to do, but it’s just tiring to attempt to do it alone anymore and the thought of it just seems to drain some of the passion from my passion. I’m ready for shared dreams and shared passion. I still have a lot of passions, it’s just that I don’t have a great desire do them alone anymore, and I think that for now, it’s okay that I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to shepherd and make disciples, I still want to take risks in faith, I still want to train up leaders, I still want to care for the oppressed and I still want to live my life discovering what it means to be an administer of justice, but I also want to be a wife and a mother. I still want a lot, it’s just that something in my heart is hitting a wall, trying to summon up enough strength to start into a new ministry alone again.

Friends in similar positions can relate when I’ve said to them, “I just don’t want the center of my life to be my job or ministry anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired of pouring my life out into so many people, carrying the weight of leadership and the responsibility of shepherding…alone. I want a person to be the focus of my investment and together to pour out.” Yep, that’s where my missional vision tour has left me stranded…and it’s good, just confusing. Now after all the travels I come back with nothing to do: no role, no leadership, no ministry and it’s liberating in a sense because I know how much it demands of me to carry by myself. I know how much my role at times has made me feel unseen no matter how hard I try to be seen. But eventually I have to choose something, and I want to choose faithfully in alignment with the gifts He’s put in me. But I really don’t even know where to look to find it anymore, or even what “it” is. Maybe I’ll know when I see. But in all honesty, part of me wonders if the Lord wants me to push at all. The night before the Teach For America verdict I was literally saying that everything in me “doesn’t want to have to choose this”…making a job the overwhelming place of investment. Well, I guess I didn’t have to…and maybe I don’t have to choose to…but that’s what I’m confused about.

I was just at the gym and before I went decided to download a Francis Chan message to listen to as I exercised. I’ve listed to him maybe once before and turns out that this message was his announcement to the church he began 16 years ago that he and his family were leaving. They aren’t even sure where they are going, they’re just leaving. Jumping In. It was absolutely compelling to listen to a humble, honest and deeply personal narrative of how the Lord has led them to this step that I know is far more intimate with the Lord than their words can touch. I thought wow, a year ago I left a community I’d invested 8.5 years in and I know that for me that was a huge jump–a big risk, big loss, more at stake, more to lose than ever before, outside of my comfort, outside of control, a separation of identity–it was a big jump. So to hear he and his wife say that after 16 years they were jumping into something new without knowing what it was, led me to say out loud on my little spinning bike “YES! YES!”

I’ve been trying to live that way, you know, willing to jump when He says jump. This last year has been intense and I’m left feeling that it is unresolved. Francis said he expects loneliness, pain and greater difficulty in what He is going to than in what He is leaving. I’m wondering if I should have expected this, with joy and hope, but prepared for it, because the reality of the jump leaves me one year later still unsure what I jumped into and where else I’m supposed to jump. But what I love is that Francis knew it was for the Lord–that it wasn’t about what he would do, but about Jesus, about loving Him because He’s worth it…He’s worth the risk, He’s worth the loneliness and He’s worth the loss. If God did withhold his own Son, but graciously gave Him up for us all…then He is worth it. I finished listening thinking that this is the relationship with the Lord I’ve been trying to live all these years and that Francis’ relationship with his wife and children and their unity in risking all to follow Christ wherever He leads is what I’ve been waiting for all these years.

It’s interesting to be a single woman striving to follow the Lord wholeheartedly because, if you wait long enough, inevitably some will think that you don’t want marriage or family, that you are perfectly content leading and shepherding and ministering alone. Inevitably there will be men who wonder if there is room in your life for them or strength enough in them for you. And then inevitably there will be this battle in me, wanting to show that there is space, but also striving to be faithful to use the gifts He’s given me, follow the passions He’s planted in me, even when I know that my doing so may convince them of the opposite. It feels like a catch-22, but I know it doesn’t have to be. For many years I’ve been a woman that wants it all, but sometimes it seems that the reality is that it’s one or the other. Sometimes I feel like I can be a wife and mother OR that I can be a passionate leader, but that I can’t be both at the same time…that either way I have to give up a part of who I am, a core desire of my heart and what I feel to be a call upon my life. Even more, one I feel like I have control of (to whatever extend I have it) and the other I feel like I don’t. So I’m left waiting to be given the freedom to be both at once.

That’s why it’s so encouraging to hear Francis and his wife doing this together and their kids right there with them convinced that it’s time to jump and my heart says, “Yes!” and “Amen!” I know that it’s possible for a family to live taking steps of faith your whole life long and I know it can be even sweeter because it’s together. And something in me thinks it’s stunningly beautiful to live that journey together–a risky faith that abandons all to jump–kinda like a tandem skydive–not only trusting each other, but trusting the Lord together. Beautiful!

I was on a backpacking trip in Montana in high school. At the end of the trip we went white water rafting and at one point pulled our boats over to a place where we could cliff jump from about 30 feet. It’s funny how it always feels higher once you are up on the cliff looking down. So I stood there maybe a bit longer than some, calculating the risk and instead of jumping I stepped off the edge precariously. As my head popped up out of the water my friend Zach said something to the effect of, “Bri, you freaked me out, you were so close to the edge you almost hit your head!” I thought of that today after Francis’ message, how sometimes it can be more dangerous to be tentative, to hold back and to only step half-heartedly.

Even now I think about a high ropes course I’ve been on numerous times and an exercise called the “pamper pole” or “leap of faith.” Basically it’s a huge telephone pole (but a bit wider) like 30 feet high and you climb to the top and find that the top is cut off unevenly. One of the hardest parts of the exercise is to climb from the last handhold to the top of the pole and just stand. Once you do, in front of you, dangling by ropes from opposing trees, is a trapeze bar that you are jumping to. The interesting part is that the trapeze bar, only like 3 feet in front of you, is totally reachable by everyone. But something happens when you are suspended 30 feet in the air from a tall wobbling pole with no bigger space than the size of your shoes on which to stand…if you decide to jump at all, it’s really hard to jump full force. Most people don’t even touch the bar, let alone grab hold of it.

After a couple times at it my routine became to cruise my way to the top and with much shaking and precision with my long frame, get one foot up on that pole. Then with a gust of courage get the other foot up and crouch. Next: Stand. Next: Turn toward the trapeze. Next: stand with my eyes closed long enough to make others uncomfortable, not worrying about the timeframe…and sing, pray, feel the breeze, the whispers of the people waiting below. It’s interesting, when I closed my eyes and used all my other senses it was one of the peaceful, freeing places and I felt like I could stand there for hours. Next: Simultaneously open my eyes and JUMP!! The word “simultaneously” is important in that sentence. There couldn’t be more then a seconds delay between opening my eyes and jumping if I was going to jump with abandon. And it’s amazing how even in that split second, something inside pulls back. I’ve never grabbed hold of the bar. But I have touched it, and just by touching it I am burned with the sense of possibility concerning something that seems impossible to me.

I like to live whole-heartedly–to be all into whatever I am in. I don’t always do this, but I do try, because it seems that if I try to hold back–one foot on the edge, one foot in the pool–then the jump is awkward and it’ll hurt more then jumping all in, or the fall will be a lot funnier to watch! When I say “yes” I want to say “yes” with every fiber of my being, not walking half-heartedly, partially restrained, part tentative, part tepid. Let’s be honest, to live like this is exhausting at times, but I think we were made to live with a passion and fire, and I really don’t know how to live otherwise. I’m not just saying that, I really don’t know how to live otherwise: I’m so driven by passion, so driven by being wholehearted and intentional about everything I choose to invest in, that it can be immobilizing if I don’t feel this passion because then I don’t want to choose anything. And that is not always a good thing!! So I’ve been struggling lately, to know what to do next when my heart isn’t driving me toward anything that I have freedom to choose.

A lot has to be counted a loss to jump: relationships, resources, comfort, pride, security, fear, control…you name it…a lot. I think of standing up on that pole about 7 years ago with a bunch of women I would be discipling all year watching. I was in a time of deep wrestling with the Gospel and how latent my life was with the quest for affirmation, the burden of pushing myself to be strong for everyone around me, the chains of fearing imperfection, vulnerability or brokenness. And though these words weren’t the ones I thought then (and excuse my language), it’s almost as if my heart cried from the top of that pole: “Damn what people think!” because I was beginning to understand that if anything would keep me imprisoned in the hell of myself and my own works–imprisoned apart from Christ and the Gospel–it would be the approval of men. And all of the sudden, suspended in the air in this moment of divine encounter, I was alone with God in the jump, singing in delight, because I could trust myself entirely to Him. No one else could take THAT jump. No one else could take its consequences or rewards. No words can touch the intimate place of the unique jump for each person.

The beautiful thing about that pole called the “leap of faith” is that everyone’s step of faith is different. For some it’s to say no and not attempt it when everyone is watching and some are pushing. For some it’s just to attempt the climb. Some it’s to get half-way up. Some it’s the step up and stand on top, or at least to make the attempt. And for others it’s jumping from the top, touching the pole or outright grabbing hold of that pole and swinging like Tarzan! We might look like a fool. We might fail huge. We might get a hurt a lot. I might lose my home, my job or people I love: I might not grab that pole or even make it to the top. But there is such liberation in the jump–abandonment that is the freedom of faith. The gain that comes as a result of the risk of faith is unsearchable. I think that if I regret anything at the end of my life I will not regret the risks, I won’t regret jumping. Sure I’ll wish I wouldn’t have been hurt or wouldn’t have fallen on my face. But I won’t regret jumping. I’ll regret more what I didn’t try than what I did. I don’t want to end my life with a list of questions that cry “what if I would have jumped?” In a recent conversation with my dad he said something that struck me, “There are few things in my life I regret, but the ones that I do haunt me.” He was concerned for me and didn’t want me to look back with the “what if” question looming over my current crossroads.

So by His strength I am willing to jump, but I’ve just been looking to find where and can’t seem to find it. And part of me wonders if he just wants me to stand at the edge of the pool singing and quieted by the stillness of communion in the wait. So with my eyes open, watchful and attentive I’m waiting to know where, knowing that wherever it is, He’s worth it and He’s in the pool ready to catch me. But for now, I attempt to rest standing up, poised but patient.

(Francis Chan’s message “Surrender” can be found on the Cornerstone podcast on iTunes. Just search Francis Chan and you’ll find it. The message is from 4/18/10).