Loosening my Grip

Given my crippling fear of flying, it is hard to imagine that in my early 30s I actually jumped out of a plane. It was a crisp fall day amid the cornfields of rural Illinois, when my friend, Gina, and I were suited up with a toggle line that would open our parachutes once we jumped. Our brief morning training had taught us how to pull our own ripcord in the unlikely event of the toggle line not working. We were taught how to spread our arms and legs so as not to get tangled up in the lines. And we were also warned that at the moment of stepping out of the plane, our brains may recall none of this amid the sound of the wind, the engine, and the thud of our hearts.

I remember Gina going first, adamantly declaring that this was a bad idea and she had changed her mind. Then I saw the instructor calmly saying that he would be right behind her as he shoved her out the door. He was NOT right behind her. Instead he turned to me.

No need to shove. I stepped out of the plane and grabbed hold of the bar under the wing, per what I had been taught. But what the instructor didn’t know, is that I had resolved to grip this bar and stay there. My legs were parallel to the wing, flailing in the air, but my grip was tight. There was simply no way I was going to let go. The plane would have to land with me attached to it.

But apparently this instructor had seen it all and he began resolutely to pry each of my fingers from the bar until I had no choice but to let go. A moment of chaos followed until miraculously the parachute unfurled and all was quiet. My brain function returned and I was able to respond to the radio’s signals to pull to the right and the left to direct my descent to the proper place. It was surprisingly peaceful.

Sometimes my fingers need to be pried from their grip. I hold on to anxious thoughts and what-if scenarios. I embrace the dread of social situations, and I over-watch news and over-scroll social media. I forget what God has done in my life and I do not cling to his promises. The result is that I forfeit his peace.

To counter this, I am trying something called Breath Prayer. To inhale and exhale God’s promises. In her helpful book, Breath as Prayer, Jennifer Tucker offers examples to aid in the practice of this ancient spiritual discipline.

Are you suffering today? Psalm 119:153 says, “Look upon my suffering and rescue me, for I have not forgotten your instructions.” Based on this verse, you can inhale with the prayer, “Father, you see my suffering,” and then exhale with the plea, “Rescue me.”

Are you consumed with worry? In the book of Isaiah, the prophet say, “You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you.” Based on this promise, try inhaling with the request, “Lord, keep me in perfect peace,” and then exhaling with the words, “as I keep my thoughts on you.”

There is zero chance that I will ever skydive again. However, the metaphor is one I will always remember. When I clutched that bar and determined to stay there, I was clinging to false hope, human understanding, and a desire to control this unpredictable life with its daily onslaught of hurricanes, hostages, and horrific evil. Where can we find peace? Only in the letting go and relinquishing control to the one who is and evermore shall be. God exists. He wants us to “bother” him. He wants to toggle the parachute and rest our flailing bodies.

So as you read this, inhale his goodness and exhale his mercy. And let him gently pry your fingers from the bar of anxiety.