I jumped. I didn't know too much about it. I was quite naive really. You see, I thought I jumped a LONG time ago...
I thought I jumped when I LITERALLY jumped out of an airplane (a few times) with a parachute. That was just falling with style.
I thought I jumped when I decided to be baptized LDS with little to no support. That was a following in His footsteps.
I thought I jumped when I put my whole faith in God the Father and live His ways and leave mine behind completely. That was a leap of faith.
I thought I jumped when I got married to a man much younger than I am. That was a step in the right direction.
I thought I jumped when I chose to take painful shots to sustain a difficult but blessed pregnancy each and every day. That was walking on the right path.
I thought I jumped when my husband was trying to make it through Hell. I just fell into a bellyflop.
I thought I jumped when we decided to leave everything we knew behind and move to a place so foreign to us it felt like we belonged. That was choosing the right.
No, I jumped just a few days ago without really understanding what I was doing. I thought I was jumping onto a scary ride for me. Something akin to Tower of Terror at Disneyland's California Adventure. Where the journey was scary and I wanted to jump out of line several times, even back out at the last moment. But I didn't because I saw younger, smaller, bigger, taller, everywhere in between going on with little to no care. I thought the ride would be scary but when I got off I would realize it wasn't as bad as I thought.
I was wrong.
What I did was something I've been doing for a year now. I signed up for yet another semester of college. I've been at this "starting over" point for some time and thought nothing of returning to the stressful horrors that is college for your not-so-average student. I was weary and frustrated, but still a willing participant.
And then I jumped.
Just like in Steve Harvey's pep talk video, I crashed into the side of the cliff, clothes torn, shoe lost. And it hasn't even been a week yet!! I feel like I have no direction but down. I have jumped from a very high place and no one can do anything except watch in horror and pray for me. I will get shouts of help on when and how to steer so as to avoid the mountain side. But other than that, I'm on my own. Just me and God.
And I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the loneliness, the desperation, the struggle, the desire to just give up on any hope of my parachute opening before I painfully make that *SPLAT* sound on the ground.
I have seen those who make a literal jump and literally crash to the ground. To be found broken and bruised and their lives changed forever...or not.
I don't know what is to become of me. I don't know when my parachute will open. I don't know how to let go and let God take the reigns so I stop ramming my body into the wall. Or maybe that's what He wants and I'm supposed to learn from that.
I. Don't. Know.
I jumped at first with a smile on my face but now I'm terrified. But fall I must. I must also have faith that this is all for my benefit. That someday this pain will pass and I can brush off and think that this ride wasn't as bad as I thought it was.