Uncomfortable.
I wonder if the only way that conversion, enlightenment, and transformation ever happen is by a kind of divine ambush. We have to be caught off guard. As long as we are in control, we are going to keep trying to steer the ship by our previous experience of being in charge. The only way we will let ourselves be ambushed is by trusting the “Ambusher,” and learning to trust that the darkness of intimacy will lead to depth, safety, freedom, and love.
~ Richard Rohr
What’s your tolerance for risk?
I returned home yesterday from an unplanned trip to southeast Asia, which you saw in last week’s post. An SOS came in from a friend in desperate need on Sunday 8:30am, and by 4:30pm that day I was on a plane heading 9,452 miles toward a very unknown situation. A week later, a 40-hour series of flights brought me back from 90 degrees in the jungle to a fresh snowfall at home, gratefully savoring how God showed up for my friend.
When is the last time you found yourself way outside your comfort zone? Was it scary? A little exciting? Did it change you? I experienced all those feelings and found that this is the space—the space beyond comfort—where things can change. Where you can change.
As you know, I have an adventurous streak: I like rock climbing, scuba diving, and anything that goes fast. What you may not know is that, as an Enneagram Six, fear and anxiety have also formed the background music of my life. (Check out my workshop video with John Freeman on “Anxiety and the Holy Imagination.”) A contradiction? You bet. I’m drawn toward external risks but often afraid of internal risks. If you’re an Enneagram fan, this is called contraphobic.
So what’s the difference between the thrill of adventure and the fear of the unknown? Very little actually. I would say that the difference between embracing or fleeing risk boils down to resources: the confidence that whatever I need will be provided. Who doesn’t love a beautiful mountain vista? Now would you rather experience that view through the window of your mountain house or clinging to the rock on a side of a mountain? I love both, but one requires more… and gives back more. Who doesn’t love the unearthly beauty of a coral reef? You can either experience that through the glass at your local aquarium or through the glass of your dive mask.
Whether you’re an intentional thrill seeker or not, life periodically offers us its own version of a rappel—something that invites you beyond your comfort zone into a situation where you’re not sure what will be required of you and, by extension, whether you have what you need. Here’s what I’m learning about this kind of space:
Trust is everything. If I’m supposed to be there, then I can absolutely trust that God will provide everything I don’t have and need. Then I can lean back, trust the rope, and enjoy the ride.
Confidence is fun. To believe that every possible need I face will be met with an equal amount of resource yields a liberating degree of confidence. This doesn’t come naturally for me, but when I lean in, the results are exhilarating.
Uncertainty is formational. When I get out on the edge, and then step over the edge, I’m placing my soul in a position to be enlarged. I am forced to experience God on a larger scale than my normal life requires… and on the back side of that experience, I can bring that enlarged capacity back into my normal life.
growing the soul
When I work with leaders, I often find that they are intimidated (and sometimes outright terrified) of solitude. But once you trust the “rope,” you can embrace the adventure and let your soul be enlarged by the richness that only solitude can bring. This Lenten season I invite you to take a personal retreat, either solo or guided, and see if something risky can become something fun.
serving the world
As you know, the 40 days of Lent are a callback to Jesus’ 40 days in the desert. I would never call Jesus’ “immersion” experience fun, but without question it was formational. His enlargement wasn’t for his own sake; it was for the sake of others. And so is yours.
takeaway
Trust the rope.