Do not let the fear of falling keep you from flying.

I never wanted to go skydiving. Even now, as I write this, I have no urge to go skydiving. I possess a rational, healthy fear of heights. Although I am an adrenaline junky, I have never gravitated towards BASE jumping, bungee jumping, wing-suit flying, bicycle ramps, paragliding, cliff diving, or free climbing.

One year into our marriage, my wife announced that her family was having a reunion, and everyone was going to go skydiving.
“Seriously? So, who in your family is going to participate? Everyone?” I asked suspiciously.

“Everyone! Gramps is excited to go. Even great-grandma wants to go.” Understand that Gramps was celebrating his 70th birthday and great-grandma, aka “Granny”, was 96 years old.

Heidi was excited about this opportunity! I pretended to be. I could see that I was not going to get out of this if I was going to maintain an appearance of bravery.

The brochure read, “Enjoy the best adrenaline…Overcome your fear. Face the challenges, come out renewed and reassured as the Master of Yourself. Step away from your comfort zone, see the world from a different perspective, refresh your soul, enjoy the excitement and the feeling of accomplishment.” It sounded like a productive session of psychotherapy at a good rate, except my anxiety levels were increasing rather than declining.

The furthest I had ever fallen was a terrifying 20-foot jump into a swimming hole that was necessary due to the extreme motivation of adolescent hormonal peer pressure. The plan now was to jump out of a plane at 17,000 feet of altitude, and to free-fall until we were 5000 feet from the ground, at which time the parachute would be deployed. Then we would cruise for another 5 minutes before a “smooth, easy landing”.

I wondered what it would feel like to fall for nearly 12,000 feet. It obviously was going to be much different from a twenty-foot jump. Was there any getting out of this? Why was everyone so excited to fall through the sky for 12,000 feet?
Much of the family opted to do a “solo” jump. This required six hours of instruction followed by the jump. A “tandem” jump (with an instructor attached to your back) did not require the training and was more financially economical. Heidi and I chose to do a tandem jump, which was a good thing because if I had tried to do a solo jump I probably would have frozen in fear and never left the plane.

Skydiving day arrived, and the forecast was for 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Hollister, California. Just 20 miles from Gilroy, the “Garlic Capital of the World”, it is a sunny, idyllic place for skydiving. Heidi and I drove up to the small airstrip just as the rest of the family concluded their solo skydiving lesson. They all seemed excited and eager to do their jump. Granny stood nearby, fuming with the realization that they were not going to let her jump. Throwing aside her walker she was strutting around, shaking her finger at the staff, “Listen to me, sonny! I will be fine. I am 96 years old. Do you think I will ever get another chance to do this?!”

Gramps led the way onto the tarmac as other family members crawled into the sheet-metal cylinder with wings, an engine, and a propeller. We waved goodbye and watched as they took off and made the steep and circuitous climb higher and higher into the blue sky. Granny realized that they had left her behind, and she hurled expletives of frustration at them as she gripped the sides of her walker. I hoped they would all manage to land on target. Having never jumped before, it seemed to me as though it would be easy to miss the mark by a large margin.

At least for Heidi and me, the tandem instructor had our back. After free-falling for 90 seconds, we would take in the incredible California coastal views, prior to the deployment of the parachute at around 5000 feet above the ground. The rest of our fall would be a scenic parachute ride and a smooth, easy landing.

In a stable, belly-to-earth position, terminal velocity is 120 mph. Position yourself into a head-first dive, and you can go as fast as 180 mph. Further minimization of drag by streamlining the body allows for speeds in the vicinity of 310 mph. “Terminal velocity” is achieved when you stop accelerating because the force of gravity and the air resistance achieve a balance. I planned to stay as slow and flat as possible, just in case. Heidi, on the other hand, seemed more interested in doing flips and aerial acrobatics.

Our instructor explained to us that in parachuting, the flare is the part of the parachute landing fall preceding ground contact and is executed about 15 feet above the ground. It is used to reduce both vertical and horizontal speed to allow a near zero-speed touchdown. This might be the most important piece of information that we needed to pay attention to.

Heidi and I, along with her brother and some of the cousins, watched from the ground as the airplane circled high above us before the small dots of people began to appear from the plane. One by one, her aunt, uncles, grandpa, and a couple of cousins, began their solo jump. We watched nervously as they were free falling for 30 seconds before their colorful parachutes began to decorate the sky.
We stood next to a couple of the staff from the skydiving company. They had radio contact with each of the jumpers. They coached them as they steered themselves towards the target field. Landing requires the jumpers to decelerate by executing the “flare”, pulling down sharply on the two straps used for steering, once 15 feet above the ground.

“Flare!” they shouted into the radio, as one by one, Heidi’s family members gently touched down within the target field.

It was then that we noticed one skydiver coming in at a high rate of speed, both horizontally, and vertically. It was Gramps, and he was “coming in hot.” “Flare! Flare! Flare!” the instructor yelled into his radio.

Gramps may have forgotten his hearing aid. He definitely forgot the instructions. He hit the ground fast, performing what I would call a “scorpion faceplant” in the dry grass 200 feet away from where we stood. We gasped and ran to see if he was OK.

Before we reached him, he stood up covered in grass and dirt with a big smile on his face. “How was that for a perfect landing?!” he proudly shouted triumphantly.

By now, everyone was on the ground, sharing “high-fives” and the giddy adrenaline high produced by the unnatural event they had just survived.

It was now our turn and the rickety airplane was idling on the runway, waiting for us. As I met with my instructor and tandem partner, I set aside my concerns over his mental health and carefully followed his directions, and listened to his final instructions. I wondered to myself if my life insurance would benefit Heidi if my parachute failed to open.

Walking to the tin-can airplane I experienced emotions similar to those who jumped out of plans on D-Day, but without the noble cause. I plastered a fake smile on my face as I made that fateful, resigned walk. The plane looked greasy and poorly maintained, but I had just witnessed its successful mission, so I set aside my concerns. You don’t realize how noisy an airplane is until you sit in the un-insulated body of a plane without pressurization and a drafty door that you’ll soon have to step out of into the void of the unknown.

The plane vibrated, howled, and shook as we raced down the runway before turning airborne and upward. There was a palatable excitement among us. Heidi’s eyes danced with glee. I glanced around to see if there was a toilet on the small plane, just in case. There was none.

Let me back up for a moment and make something clear: I am not afraid of flying. I feel very safe in airplanes. I can relax through turbulence and thunderstorms. But the prospect of stepping out of a plane is an entirely different thing.

Our altimeters continued to climb as we ascended further and further from the safety of the terra-firma. A fall from this height would not be painful. It would just be terrifying and liquifying. This was a thought that brought me no comfort, whatsoever.
The airplane stopped ascending and I knew the time had finally come. The jumpmaster motioned for us to stand as he unlatched the door and brought it open, leaving a cavernous abyss into the nil of 14,000 feet of air. My instructor buckled me to himself and we shuffled into the line. I felt as if I was walking towards the trap door of the gallows. Could I please back out now? I quickly recited “the sinner’s prayer”.

Heidi’s brother Eric fearlessly led the way, confidently stepping into the void.

Heidi was next. As I said my last “goodbye,” she dove like Wonder Woman, into the sky. Before I knew it, I was being pushed to the door. Could I please back out now? I was being pushed forward. “5, 4, 3, 2,” the instructor yelled into my ear.

“Wait! I need just a second!” I dug in my heels, but to no avail. With a strong push, I was forced out the door and began the unstoppable accelerating drop through the sky. I don’t know if I screamed, but it might have. The falling sensation was very real.
I had no choice now. It was time to cooperate. I arched my back and tried to get into a horizontal position, in spite of the sensory overload that my body was experiencing.

Seconds later, it felt as though I were slowing. It felt as though I was floating, no longer falling, soaring like a bird. We had achieved terminal velocity. I relaxed, as I looked at the ground, far below us. I trusted the instructor on my back.
As I fell, the air got warmer. We were going from 17,000 feet, to 12,000, to 10,000, to 7,000. I did not know when our parachute would be deployed, but I had a feeling it would be soon.

“BAMM!” the parachute opened, and I was not prepared for it. The instant deceleration hit the straps that held my body with great force, pushing all the air from my lungs and flipping my body from a horizontal position, into a vertical position. My vocal cords were activated when this happened, much to my embarrassment. I then began the slow descent towards the ground.

It was warm again, and quiet. I enjoyed the scenery. My instructor steered. I looked up and down, wondering if Heidi was still falling. We made slow circles in the sky, working our way away from the freeway and towards the landing zone. I sighed with relief and relaxed. It would not be long before we were back on the ground. I saw the runway and the ant-sized figures of our family. I prepared for our landing and my instructor brought us down with the gentleness of a leaf, falling to the ground. We landed on our feet. I was happy to be alive.

Now that had been a lot of fun! Did I want to do it again? Did I want to take advantage of the discounted offer to begin skydiving lessons? Absolutely not! Why would I ever do this again? But I had done it, and it had been an experience like no other. It was unforgettable and I have no regrets. Heidi gleefully declared, “That was the most exhilarating thing I have ever done.”

There are times when we need to push beyond what we feel is comfortable. There are times to set aside our fears. In those moments we will broaden our lives and experience the growth that only comes by exceeding the boundaries of our comfort zone. Often the greater risks yield the greatest reward.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”
Joshua 1:9 (NIV)

“He makes the clouds his chariot
and rides on the wings of the wind.”
Psalm 104:3 (NIV)

• Are you afraid of heights? What is the highest jump you have ever taken?
• Do you think you are becoming more fearful, or less fearful? Why?
• What risks are you taking right now, in faith?