Fear, uncertainty, release, vulnerability.
The fear that you’re not supposed to be moving so quickly, so assuredly to an unforgiving landing. Uncertain if the land will leave you with breath in your lungs or intact bones in your legs. The release of the pressure that is standing, keeping yourself whole and unbroken and tall and strong. Vulnerable because you are no longer standing and strong, but defenseless to the ground that is rushing up to meet you with a smile of disaster.
Falling usually ends in breaking, in disaster, in needing to be fixed.
But sometimes falling is good. It’s fun, thrilling. When you fall out of an airplane and feel that rush of excitement in the bottom of your gut. When adrenaline is fire in your veins before you pull the string to release the parachute.
Falling in love. Because it is a risk. Because you don’t know if they will fall with you. If they will catch you. If they will let you hit the ground. Because it’s a thriller to feel that free-fall. An adrenaline rush to let all of yourself fall into someone else. To open up your body, expose the pumping organ trapped in your ribcage, hoping someone will grab hold and not let go. To risk getting broken or having your parachute pulled.
Falling in your dreams rather than flying. Losing control and grasping for a hold, reaching for a parachute that’s not there because you’re dreaming and you’ve lost control and you won’t grasp onto anything or feel your body ripped away from gravity’s unforgiving hold.
The fall. The moment in our history when one decision sent all of humankind on a head first dive to a certain devastation, to death and pain and fear and uncertainty. The second where life became death, happiness became fear, trust became doubt, and flying became falling.
Until the string for the parachute is pulled but you did not pull it, you could not have pulled it, because there was no parachute to begin with, so why are you floating now instead of falling? Why are you flying?
You’ve been saved from breaking to pieces. You’ve been saved from death and certain devastation.
Worship is falling. Falling to your knees. An outward demonstration of an inward reality. It’s a position of the heart. The fall would have crushed every insignificant bone in your body, but the Savior pulled your parachute string and you gently fell to your knees in worship. Because what else is there to do but continue the descent in the safety of his arms to show that you don’t deserve to fly so you’ll fall for Him because He won’t let your break.
Falling can be exhilarating.
Fallen, finality, pieces, beyond repair.
You’ve been saved. You fell in love. Your parachute was pulled. You’re no longer falling, but flying.