Dear Friends,
I grew up near Andrews Air Force Base, and many of my friends were military kids. One summer, I was invited by the Schultz family to go swimming at the NCO Club pool. The largest pool had three diving boards, one of which was a high dive that soared high above the pool and (seemingly) that entire corner of the base. My friends were excitedly talking about the thrill of jumping from that towering ledge. They wanted me to do it, too, of course.
Getting up the nerve to jump off the high dive was not easy for me. I’m an average swimmer and have always had a fear of physical injury where athletics were concerned. I remember climbing up those endless stairs to the top of the dive and looking down below at Mrs. Schultz, Susan, Cindy and the rest of our ant-sized friends below. It felt like I was about to jump to my death. Would I even hit the pool? Or would I veer too far to the left or the right and miss it entirely?
I finally inched to the edge of the ledge, held my nose, my breath and my heart, and stepped off. After breaking the water, I had a few more moments of terror as I furiously thrashed my way to the surface. As I burst through, drew my breath and splashed my way to the edge, my friends were cheering. Mrs. Schulz was smiling. I felt like a million bucks.
Yesterday, in my interfaith clergy support group, one of our members showed a great deal of personal courage in his sharing. As he was talking, the image of a child jumping off a high dive came to my mind. He reminded me that being vulnerable can feel every bit as risky as sailing off the end of a diving board that seems to be a mile high in the sky. There were some difficult moments during our group discussion, but there was celebration afterwards.
Whether my colleague will take the plunge again – or whether any of the rest of us will follow his lead – remains to be seen. The leap may never stop feeling scary for the diver. But friends who cheer are always welcome.
Yours,
Terry