“Sometimes there are no words to help one’s courage. Sometimes you just have to jump.”
Jumping shots are my favorite. I do them when I’ve reached a destination, achieved a goal, or when something important happens, like they replace the empty box of Diet Dr, Pepper (DDP) concentrate at the gas station, and I’m FINALLY able to get my fix. #ihaveaproblem
I make my boys, friends and family jump with me; and I refuse to accept their excuses for non-participation! ! It’s just like I told my mom last fall.
Are double knee replacements going to hold you back your whole life? It’s been two months! Orthopedic surgeons don’t know everything Mom. That’s why they say 4 out of 5 doctors. Now leap dammit!
My oldest son Alex does NOT like to do jumping shots, so I often coerce him into taking them instead. The thing is, because he completely lacks the patience of Job, it’s done in about fifteen seconds flat. “K. Onetwothree” and you had better hope you got it on film, because you’re not getting a retake.
*For those of you who don’t know what film is, you can google it.
To jump is to pass over an obstacle or barrier. To rise suddenly, to soar, to surge, to climb.
Why I jump.
I jump. Everyday I jump. Because sometimes the only way across the chasm of doubt my shadow casts is to leap over it.
I bob, I pop, I canter, because I’ve learned you have let go of the ground to move forward.
I will myself to clumsily catapult towards joy; because choosing happiness is a conscious, practiced movement that must be consistently repeated to register in muscle memory.
I bounce, I jounce, I lollop; because my three boys HATE when I act like a tacky tourist and take jumping shots everywhere we go. But jumping is is a verb, and goals achieved , culminations reached, takes a lot of work and determined action. Getting there. Finally arriving, should be celebrated.
I jump. Because I’ve fallen. Repeatedly. I’ve tasted the sharp, salty, sting of tears when gravel grates and draws blood.
So I jump, because I still can.
I shake, I trip, I waver, because pulling yourself up after you’ve stumbled takes a lions heart, and courage sometimes roars without sound.
So I rise, I surge, I rail; because the warrior’s cry of bravery can be as simple as the muted act of showing up. Again. The raw indomitability of being seen; even scraped, broken and battered, seen.
I jump, because the act of reaching out to offer help, or reaching up to receive guidance is pure poetry, inspiring, undiluted beauty.
I flinch, I jerk, I rebound next to you. Another tightly wound jack in the box trembling with terrible anticipation, waiting to spring up.
I jump, so those around me know they are not alone.
I wait. I rest. I breath.
I pause so you can find your footing next to me; stand close enough to hold your hand. I am still while you remember we were created to jump without being told when to spring. I wait, so we can rise together.
But mostly, I jump, because I secretly wonder if God has a wack a mole mallet, He’s just waiting to use on me.
“In order to change, you need to stop fearing the change but instead fear the results of NOT trying to change. What happens if you don’t jump? What happens if you stay where you are right now? Isn’t the greatest risk b the risk of doing nothing?
Exist or risk. Dream or do.
Fear not changing, and you will change your life.”
“Wings are like dreams. Before each flight, a bird takes a small jump, a leap of faith, believing that its wings will work. That jump can only be made with rock solid feet.”
Or put another way,
Our greatest glory is not never falling but rising each time we fall