David has an anatomy and physiology professor that was talking about that--how we're really all on the edge. What a tenuous bundle of precision is required for the sustenance of human life. Blood and vessels, hormones, nerves, electrical impulses, organs and fluids, constantly pumping and valving. It's all a completely foreign language to me and yet more parts that I have even begun to have names for are at work to keep me living, breathing, thinking.
This morning as we prayed I imagined it. The edge--a scary place to be. Gives me the yeeks and I don't like it one bit. I don't want to be here. I want to be certain that things will be okay. Especially big things. I want to know the way and plan what we'll have for dinner tomorrow and what we'll name the baby.
But there is only one guarantee. Jesus says I am the way, the truth and the life. So, if Jesus is the way...oh, do I ever need him. The calendar, our balanced budget, meals in the freezer, my checked list, dear friends, a thriving church, routine, a good report from the doctor, vaccinations--none of those good things provides any actual security. Really.
And yet, the glorious mystery of it all is this: if/when I am aware and trusting Jesus as I live on the edge, I can dance. I can twirl a crazy twirl and do one of those exuberant ballet leaps with my knees all poking out in the wrong directions--right on the very edge and without fear. It won't matter if I mis-step. It doesn't matter one bit because I will be caught in the grace. Caught by Christ.
I would rather have that. Rather live joyfully twirling, even when my vision is blurred by tears--right on the very, very edge of life--than hanging from weeds and dirt clods by my fingernails, trying not to numb myself to the drop looming below. So today I fight to be here. I fight to twirl and trust on this very edge.