The time has come.

We have had a vision. We have dreamed a dream. We can see the sunrise in the distance.

We are in the midst of becoming.

And we can see the chasm open wide before our feet.


We have come to a point that is unbearable.

If we step forward, we fall into the abyss.

If we stay behind, we are writhing in our own skin.

If we linger on this side of the canyon, we feel we will die from sameness and from lethargy and from simple longing.

And if we give into the longing and go to step out into it -- we are afraid that we will die, too, from overexposure and from the hubris of Icarus and from the withdrawal of love we are sure will come.

It is time for us to take a leap.


What if the abyss isn't an abyss?

What if the canyon isn't so insurmountable as it may seem?

What if it isn't a canyon after all?


What if everything we are afraid of is just a shadow and a thought?

Do we not believe that we have been called?

Calling does not kill us. We only think it will because it feels bold. It feels daring. It feels like a battlefield.

It is none of these things and at the same time it is all of these things.

To be called to something is to be called into the version of us that Christ has made us to be. It is to be called further up and further in, into a newer, deeper version of abundant living than we have ever experienced.

We know this instinctively. That is why it fills us with joy. We can sense the depth of living on the other side of the chasm. We can see that the grass is a deeper green.

Everything is the same, and everything is different.


And the longing will kill us, we feel, because we are restless for it.

We cannot live without the coming-true of our vision.

So we swallow hard and we take a step.

One of my favorite singing concepts is the one my former voice teacher used to say: Fall on it. That is, take a breath, and just fall on the sound like you are falling on your sword. Expect for your voice, your technique, the breath to catch you.

Expect it to catch you.

It's a remedy for fear. It's a remedy for the sneaking apprehension that you will sound bad. It's a cure for Fear of Bad Sounds. Just take a leap, the voice says, and trust me to catch you.

The Voice says.

God says.

So we take a leap. We fall on our swords.

And we find that the canyon isn't a canyon at all.

Because rather than the deep darkness of falling and of our stomachs flipping over themselves, we discover that what we thought was a chasm was only mist obscuring the deep grass that we now find ourselves stumbling into.

We trip over our own feet in our relief, and it feels for a moment that we are falling.

But what has happened is that we have stepped out in faith, and we are caught by Christ Who has already taken the fall for us.


Calling does not, does not, does not always look like this.

Sometimes we leap into the darkness and we do find ourselves falling, falling, falling fast and never landing ever.

And then.

After sailing downward through warm blackness, we feel something grab us.

For we have stepped out in faith. And we have almost landed on our faces.

And Jesus is there to grab us and pull us back to the light. He deposits us on the other side in the rich green grasses.

We have stepped out in faith. We have taken a leap.

The way that leap ends up may not look the way we think it will.

But it will always, always, always be rewarded.


So let's be a little brave today.

Let's step out.

Let's follow the calling, because if we don't, then we will die. Something inside us will curl itself into a ball like an insect and shrivel and wither and be extinguished by lack of oxygen and water and dreaming.

The thing God has called us to do?

It dies if we don't take a chance on it, but mostly on God. If we don't leap.

And that, to me, is more terrifying than the fall.

So let's be a little brave today.

Let's hold Jesus' hand and jump.

Shall we?