Two Minutes
Posted by Christian Lemon in BLOG, Faith, Featured, Movie References, Need for Speed, Physical Battles, Posts For Guys Who Like Posts | Saturday, March 26th, 2011
The sixty year old man turned his head and shouted over the roar of the twin turbo props keeping me alive, “Two minutes!” He was staring right at me. I was unable to see his eyes due to his mid-eighties, Tom Cruise “Maverick” aviator sunglasses, but the grin plastered on his face was unforgettable. He had that look about him, the look that suggested he was envious of the experience I was about to have.
At the announcement, the man strapped to my back slapped me on the shoulder and shouted into my covered ear, “Move up to the door!” We shuffled together toward a door in the side of the airplane. We rolled it up like a small garage door, and a rush of wind grabbed the air out of my lungs. The scene outside was mesmerizing. The tops of fluffy clouds labored slowly in the upper level winds, and the Atlantic shimmered in the distance.
I felt a sharp tug on my back, and I fell away from the open cavity. “You don’t want to go out there just yet,” the instructor strapped to my back shouted. He was an ex-CIA jumper. He had thousands of hours skydiving, and was as crazy as the description “ex-CIA” jumper sounds. With long gray hair blowing recklessly from underneath his cap, he just shook his head, “I like you man, you’re a little crazy, and a little reckless!” He slapped my shoulder. The stories this guy had shared, while we were on the ground, were astounding. He had started as a paratrooper in Vietnam during the war, then was recruited by the CIA for, well, CIA-esque operations. The guy was pure nuts. I mean, completely out of his dome. I was sure he would have been a pot smoking hippie draft dodger, instead he was the man who I was trusting with my life.
“Is it cool if we do some flips, when we leave the aircraft?” he asked.
“Do anything you want,” I responded.
“Right on, man, right f@#$%** on!” he expressed emphatically.
The plan was to rock three times. On the third time, I would jump out, with the crazy hippie attached to my back. At this point, I was distant from what I was about to do. No fear. No worry. No thought of parachute failure. I was going skydiving.
We rocked once. My face barely tasted the wind outside the airplane.
We rocked twice. I began to shake a little. Not in fear. I don’t say that in false bravado, but I know my body. This was the shaking I get when I’m about to get into a street race. It’s the rush I get when I make up my mind to jump off the high dive. The jitters I get before I break cover in an intense paintball battle. It’s THE moment. The moment before the moment. The moment you know, with all your heart, that you’re going to do it. Whatever it is, you’re doing it. No turning back. No doubt. No small voice of concern.
We rocked the third time and, without hesitation, I let go of the airplane. I crossed my arms, as I had trained to do, and leaned my head back as I was told. We flipped four to five times. I remember the ground, the plane, the ground, the plane. The smell of the exhaust from the engines was powerful in my nose, as we settled into a steady descent downwards.
It was quiet out there. I had no sensation of falling. It was pure bliss. Complete peace. I had done it.
There is a commercial with mixed martial artist (MMA) fighter Urijah Faber. It shows Faber preparing for a fight. It shows mundane things. It shows intense things, but it’s all preparation. Then it builds to show the fight is about to start, and the commercial reaches a crescendo as the cage closes, the bell rings, and Urijah steps out to meet his opponent. The tag line is “Before every moment, there is a moment”. It’s so true. Urijah could’ve backed out before that last moment, the moment before the moment, but he didn’t. He came to fight. I could’ve stepped back from the edge of the door on the airplane, the moment before the moment, but I didn’t. I came to skydive.
I think I know when Jesus’s moment was. It was the moment before nail touched flesh. The moment before arm brought hammer down on iron. It was the moment before he was pinned to that cross. The moment all heaven peered down upon their favorite Son, and begged him to call upon the legions to swoop down and spare him the crucifixion. Jesus could’ve called it all off. He could’ve stopped it. He could’ve spoken destruction on those gathered. He could’ve blinked the apocalypse, and summoned the four horsemen to ride, it was the moment before the moment, but he didn’t. Jesus came to save.
Before His moment, there was a moment. Jesus endured His moment. I pray you endure yours.
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