Into the Water

About two weeks ago, I went rock climbing for the first time in a long time.

I forgot how much I enjoyed it. It's a challenging sport, requiring a lot of strength I haven't built yet, but there's something else about it I find thought-provoking and a little bit fascinating. It's one of the only sports I can think of where you give your life entirely into the hands of another person.

Of course, it's possible to climb without that risky element, but as far as beginners go, if you choose to climb without a belayer, you're either taking a much bigger risk or limiting yourself -- either by how high you can climb or by how many routes you're able to do. Having someone to catch you when you might not have the strength to continue is possibly part of why the rock climbing community is so supportive and helpful -- these are people who have to learn to trust, and have to be worthy of trust, each time they get on the wall.

The stakes for rock climbers are pretty high, and they only get higher the farther you climb. Your life is literally protected by your belayer, who watches you from below and cheers you on. And if you let go, either on purpose or on accident, the only reason you don't fall the full distance to the ground is because of their steady hand on the rope, keeping you airborne for as long as you need and bringing you gently back down when it's time.

This has been a challenge for me, because trust in anyone other than myself is something I find very difficult to wrap my brain around. I have a couple friends who are good climbers and good belayers, namely my friend Skyler, who was the one who reintroduced me to this sport and the one you can see pictured below looking very nervous about my bouldering abilities. (We didn't match shirts on purpose.)

Am I doing the pink route? The black? What am I reaching for? We may never know.

And even though I knew he's experienced, and I knew he's a good person who would never let anyone fall on purpose, the first time I was expected to lean back in my harness and trust him to let me down, I panicked a little. Until then, I had just been scaling the wall, enjoying the movement -- but at that moment I realized that if I were ever going to become good at this, and if I wanted to continue, I had to learn to trust that if I did fall, there would be someone there to catch me.

Similar was the plight of Simon called Peter. However, unlike me, Peter was experienced -- he'd been on the water for at least his working life. He was a sailor, a fisherman -- he knew how boats worked, and he knew the sea. And yet, when the storms came, he struggled to find safety.

I wonder how trippy it must have been to see someone walking on water toward you while you're in the midst of an ocean storm. The original apostles catch a lot of flack for plenty of things, but I feel like in this case, it would be pretty understandable to feel worried about the actual person that seemed to be crossing the waves like they were solid ground, making their way toward you. 

But, again, Peter was familiar. More maybe than I am able to understand the perils of rock climbing, Peter knew what happens to sailors who are tossed from the boat into a stormy sea, but Peter also knew Jesus. He was familiar with Him. And so he asked the Savior, "if it's really You, bid me come to You on the water."

And Jesus did. Here, of course, comes the famous lesson -- Peter began to center his focus on the things that mattered infinitely less than Jesus, and so, as we all must when we do such things, he began to sink. Immediately, I'd imagine, and with no hesitation, the Savior stretches out his hand to do what He does best -- that is, to save.

There's a lesson hidden in there, though -- a lesson I think we often overlook in the face of a far more obvious lesson, but I don't think it's any less important. It's the lesson of letting go of the wall, of stepping out of the boat in the first place. It's a lesson about what to do with fear as it comes our way.

See, Peter may have been flawed, he may have lost focus for a moment, but we tend to overlook the behemoth act of faith it must have taken to step onto that angry sea and believe enough in the power of Jesus to walk on water. That he eventually sank into the waves in no way diminishes the fact that for a second, Peter did it. The Savior invited him, and I know that Peter wasn't perfect, but that man knew how to respond to an invitation -- the scariest, most challenging invitations especially.

And I wonder to myself, if Jesus asked me to step out of the boat, would I do it?

Never mind the hosts of other invitations Christ extended to Peter -- the invitation to leave everything he knew to follow him, the invitation to lead His church on earth, and eventually the invitation to die for the truth -- disregard all those invitations and think about this one. Would you do it?

I have a hard time believing my (perfectly logical) fears wouldn't get in the way. "But Jesus," I'd say, "You happen to be the Son of God, and you have power I don't have. I can't walk on water, because I'm not you. You are equipped to do this -- I'm not. I've tried it before and my feet just do not do that. And if I fall into this water, I don't know for sure that I'll come back up."

And you know what? All of that is technically true. Peter, however, as far as we know, made none of these excuses. Once the figure on the water confirmed that He was Jesus, Peter was ready. He even suggested the test himself. That had to take so much faith, so much trust in his Savior. I aspire to this level of trust still, today.

An invitation was recently issued by President Russell M. Nelson of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He invited us to write a list of things we learned during the past two years. From April 2019 to now, my life has changed incredibly -- I lived in Italy for three months, lost a very dear friend, transferred schools, started a business, ended a couple relationships, and learned one of the most important lessons I have ever learned.

That lesson has been to step out of the boat.

I'm not saying that I have the faith that is necessary to walk on water yet, but from where I started, miracles have occurred. Just six months ago, I would tell you that the most consistent feeling of my whole entire life was loneliness. If you know me well, you know that I'm fiercely independent. I do not mind doing things by myself at all -- I've traveled alone, I've seen movies alone, I shop alone. Part of this is just personal preference, but part of it was necessity: growing up, I didn't really ever have a stable group of friends. I had one or two who stuck around, but even there, it was hard for me to be vulnerable. My relationships were, broadly speaking, surface-level and unfulfilling. And it's just true -- I felt alone a lot of the time.

Most people wouldn't know this about me, because I'm friendly and social and sociable. Those who really know me, though, knew how often I wondered if there was just something terribly wrong with me that made everyone leave.

The process of leaving this limiting belief behind has been very slow going. It required more of me than I really felt prepared to give. But with the help of a roommate that is perfect for me (shout out to you, Tiffany!) and other good friends who were willing to hear me, be there for me, and stand by me when things got tough, I learned that I really am not meant to do this all by myself.

This is just one of the ways God has invited me to hop out of the boat into the water. Another invitation that was issued by President Nelson was to ask the Lord what debris we can clear out of our life to be more worthy of the blessings of our covenants. When I prayed to know what to clear out of my life, wanna know what God said?

Let go of the fear.

He said to me, "You have wondered your entire life if you're good enough. If you're talented enough. If you're smart enough. If you have it in you to do what you want to do. You are, and you do. And if you do it, if you go for it, you will bless so many people. It's time for you to get out of the boat and come to me."

The logical side of my brain has a million excuses for why I shouldn't listen. But at this point, given what I have learned the past two years, the question isn't even "should I do this?" anymore, but "do I trust God?"

And, having looked back on the past two years, I can with complete honesty say that I have sustained heavy losses, heavier than I thought I could endure, and felt some of the deepest pain I have ever felt in all my life of feeling things very deeply. But with equal candor, I can say that I am living a life I didn't think was even possible. God has truly provided unimaginable blessings to make up for the painful losses, and through it all He has been with me, keeping me above water, helping me feel His love. It has all been worth it, and I wouldn't trade any of it out for what I thought I wanted in April 2019.

So, to sum up: Do I trust God?

Yes. Yes, I do.

So, over the edge of the boat and into this stormy sea I go. I may sink, but I believe with all my heart that Christ is ready to save me if I do.

Photo cred: Adam Johnson (@adamjphotography_3)