Everything seemed more intense when we were young. The joys and highs
were so much more extreme and great, the pain and lows seemed like a bottomless
pit from which we would never recover.
The excitement of accomplishment; hitting a grand slam, dunking a
basketball, catching a big fish or crab. Relationships lifted us to new heights;
holding hands and kissing a girl for the first time, writing her name all over
my notebook. There was genuine wonder in our life when we looked at the stars,
got close to a wild animal or peered over a cliff.
Life was carefree and we felt like everything was going to turn out
great. Yes we made mistakes, but we could recover – or so I thought.
I was playing “astronaut” in the backyard with my friend Dante. I had a
toy Mercury space capsule that came inside a box of Matey (a kid’s bubble bath
that claimed to “soak children clean automatically” through a lethal
combination of bubbles and chemicals – which is the subject of an entirely
separate blog.)
Anyway, my mom had left the house to pick up some groceries while we
were shooting this thing high up into orbit. Flinging it as high as our pre-pubescent
bodies would allow, we then employed our highly advanced math calculating
abilities to guess where we could catch it for a mid-air recovery before
crashing to the ground. We were having a lot of fun with this three-cent toy
when the wind carried it onto the roof and it got stuck in the gutter.
Not wanting to stop having so much fun; I was determined to solve this
problem. My dad’s ladder was too heavy to move even with Dante’s help, so I
came up with a very creative solution. Running into the house and racing
upstairs to my room, I slid a chair over to the window and opened it. Carefully
unlocking the screen, I slid it up and crawled onto the roof. Moving slowly to
the toy capsule, I reached into the gutter and threw it down to Dante. We both
breathed a sigh of relief that the toy was recovered safe and sound.
The simple solution would be to crawl back to the window and let myself
back in. I knew how to get out so getting back in should be simple. But in a
moment of what seemed like clarity at the time, the window option seemed like a
lot of trouble while the ground below didn't look all that far away. I mean
after all, how much trouble could I get into if I just gradually let myself off
the roof and gently landed on the ground?
Dante offered his heartfelt encouragement in this “direct approach”
saying that it wasn't all that high to begin with. So, armed with this new
found insight I began the process of slipping over the edge of the roof. I put
one leg over, then the other while hanging onto the gutter. I was now fully
outstretched, dangling in the wind by both hands. Thinking to myself, “See,
this wasn't so bad” I let go and dropped ever so gently to the ground. By ever
so gently I mean that I fell like a sack of potatoes, a boat anchor, a cinder-block.
My head was spinning and it took a little while for me to come to my
senses after impact. I came to realize two very important things while lying on
the ground;
First – Looking up, I could see that all the blood had drained out of
Dante’s face as he screamed, “What in the world were you thinking?” His face was
only a momentary image followed by watching his back as he ran home, thinking
that my insanity that drove me to jump off the roof was somehow contagious.
Second – there was a new, searing pain in my right hip that wasn't there a moment ago. I wondered where that had come from as I got up and hobbled
into the house. Collapsing into my dad’s TV chair, I stretched out and fell
asleep.
I've come to realize that while this was the genesis of my hip
problems, it taught me an important life lesson. Yes, this “giant leap for
mankind” eventually led to my hip replacement surgery years later. But it was
more than that; it was my personal wake-up call that life for people, even for kids
like me, included pain.
While I never jumped off a roof again, more pain came flooding into my
life. As it came, I went looking for comfort and relief. Finding none, I
retreated into myself and built an impenetrable wall. No one was going to hurt
me, I wouldn't let them.
Looking back at my childhood pain, I now see that I needed to connect
with my creator and God. This is why Jesus said “"Let the children come to
me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like
these children" [1].
Jesus reaches out to children even today, wanting them to come. His arms
are open wide to comfort, protect and bless. We may think that this is OK for
children to reach out to Jesus, but it’s not for us adults. After all, we’re
self-sufficient; we can take care of ourselves.
Oh really? Just look at the people all around us, the broken landscape
of humanity that cries out in pain from brokenness, fear and loneliness.
Perhaps you see this every day in the mirror?
As Jesus calls for little children, he calls for you and me. While a
little bit older, we are his children none-the-less. He is the only one that
can comfort our hurts and brokenness.
He’s right there beside you. Now is the time to reach out and ask him.
We don’t need to jump off a roof to find Jesus.
Blessings – Chet
Chet Gladkowski speaks and writes on topics that touch on culture, life
and faith. This article is taken from a chapter in his upcoming book.
[1] Matthew 19:14
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