Release

I used to teach swimming lessons at Biola in the summers. When you are expected to jump into that water at 8am every morning to manage some bratty kids, each moment leading up to immersion is exceedingly precious. I would often reflect upon the moment of diving into the water - that fleeting second or two between when I would jump off the edge of the pool and when I would hit the water. Between the jump and the splash. Naturally, most of my reflection upon that moment would occur during the moment itself (you may not know this about me, but I possess superhuman powers of rapid reflection). I was frequently struck by the irrevokable nature of the leap. Soon, there would be consequences. Wet consequences. Wet and cold - thanks to that loathsome law of gravity. I could not return to the edge of the pool once I was falling through the air towards the water, and though, in the moment, I was warm, dry, and brat-free, nothing could prevent the onslaught to come. Yet in that same leap, there was great freedom and joy. To be momentarily free from the earth, spinning into weightlessness. The number of times per day that I would jump off of the high-dive is a testament to my love for that feeling. For me, there are few sensations that are as thrilling.

The moment between the action and the result is a strange moment. It's a moment that bears mixed connotations, and we're all familiar with it. For some, it means freedom. For others, it means fear. It always bears immediate consequences. I can prepare for years, but once I take the shot and release the ball, I have no more control over whether or not it will go in. I'm mixing metaphors now, but the point is that I am in the moment of release. I have prepared, but now I have little control over the inevitable result. My plane is in the air. While there are a few bratty kids involved, hopefully our landing will not also involve immersion in cold water. When I get off, it will be in Africa (well, first London, and then Africa), and there is nothing I can do to change that - nothing legal, safe, or reasonable, at least.

In reality, I know that we experience release many times every day, but this particular release is especially impactful. I'm sure that I will be more poigniantly aware of the subsequent moments of release that I will see during my stay in Africa - my current state of release is just the first of many I am likely to experience over the next several weeks. My relative affinity for physical thrills like the high-dive has not really carried over into other areas of my life. I've tended to cling to the status quo in areas of social, professional, and spiritual advancement, content to grow slowly rather than learn to swim by jumping all the way in or reluctant to let go of one branch until I've got a hold of the next (more mixed metaphors...). So while, this moment of release is perhaps equal parts freedom and fear, knowing that I will be confronted with more opportunities to jump in the coming weeks (or at least that I'll be more aware of the edge of the diving board before I step off of it) adds hope to freedom and fear. It's a good thing too. Without hope, who would ever have the courage to jump in?