Strange times we’re in. While there are many people that no longer have the job they held a month or two ago, many others now work from home. For those folks, the reality is that sometimes they just can’t produce the same quality from home that they’re able to at their normal place of business. I don’t advocate for shoddy workmanship, but it’s important to understand that if you’ve turned in low-quality work of some kind, all is not lost.
We’ve heard many times that God can take terrible things and use them for good. It’s like saying God loves us. We’ve heard it so many times we lose our appreciation for what it means. What if I told you there’s a story in the Bible where God used someone’s poor-quality work to both glorify Himself and accomplish His will at the same time? That might make you feel better when you’re unable to produce the same quality of work you’re accustomed to turning in.
There’s a story in 1 Kings 20 that has a funny little twist. The Bible often glosses over big events in a very short amount of time, and if you blink, you’ll miss it. In this case, the Israelites were at war with a numerically superior foe, the Arameans. Verse 27 says that the Israelites were like two little flocks of goats, but the Arameans covered the countryside.
The Lord was kinda mad at the Arameans in this engagement, so he enabled the Israelites to cut down 100,000 of their enemy in one day, and verse 30 says that the rest fled into a nearby city. Here’s where you’ll miss it if you blink: “But the rest fled to Aphek into the city, and the wall fell on 27,000 men who were left.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen a wall large enough to fall on 27,000 men. In order to have a wall that big fall on so many people at once, we’re talking about failure at a spectacular level. The book doesn’t say anything about how that wall was constructed or what made it collapse; we just know that it happened, it was bad news for the Arameans, and it was all part of God’s plan.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not condoning work that’s intentionally sloppy or poor. If you can’t meet the level of what you’re ordinarily capable of though, do the best you can. There may be a divine purpose for that imperfection later on down the line.
Exiting an aircraft with Tony and his very recognizable jumpsuit
I’m certainly no skydiving guru. While I was a skydiving student, though, I had a few memorable jumps. I’m not sure what the requirement is now, but when I was working on getting my A License (the most basic jumping certification), the rule was that you had to accumulate at least 25 jumps and meet certain milestones along the way.
I was in the plane on the way up for my 23rd jump. The weather was turning sour, so this was the drop zone’s last load of jumpers for at least a few hours. We saw the cloud bank rolling in, and we were trying to rush up to altitude so we could jump out and land before the clouds obscured our view of the ground.
Another student named Jeremy and I were going to jump with our coach Tony. Tony was pretty familiar with us and we had all jumped together before. He wore a neon orange jumpsuit that was so bright it looked like it ran on batteries.
On a jump with Tony as my coach
I don’t remember what the freefall objectives of the jump were, but once we arrived at altitude we hopped out together and began going through our freefall plan. We fell through our predetermined “time to separate” altitude, so we broke apart to get some distance between us before we opened our parachutes. All three of us opened the chutes without a problem, but much to our surprise, the cloud cover had blown in much faster than we anticipated. We couldn’t see the ground anywhere. The only thing we had were our altimeters; we knew how high we were off the ground, but we didn’t know where we were in relation to the airport, so we couldn’t line up in our landing pattern. Since the wind was pushing us the whole time, the longer we floated aimlessly, the further off course we drifted, leaving us less margin of error for a safe landing at the airport.
Since Jeremy and I were still students, each of us had a one-way radio in our jumpsuit shoulder pockets. There was a guy on the ground with a walkie talkie that was waiting to spot us, and he would radio instructions about which way to turn and when to do it. Until we popped through the clouds though, it was useless for all of us.
Tony took the lead; he was the lowest jumper “under canopy,” so I followed him, and Jeremy followed me. I was glad Tony’s jumpsuit was so bright. It was eerie and unsettling to drift without direction in a thick fog. The last time we saw the airport, we were right over it, but the wind can be a lot stronger than you realize when you don’t have any visible references.
Suddenly we popped through the bottom of the clouds at a low altitude. The airport was impossibly far away! We had bled off so much altitude in the fog that there was no way we could make it back. Tony’s canopy had a much higher performance capability, so he made a break for the airport and was able to make it back. With our “vanilla” student rigs and oversized canopies, though, Jeremy and I had no chance of reaching the airport.
The dropzone where I learned to jump was home to the Guinness World Record holder of sport parachute jumps. Don Kellner, who just recently completed his 45,000th jump, was on the radio giving instructions to Jeremy and I. Don’s a funny guy; he doesn’t pull any punches, so he says it like it is and doesn’t sugar coat it.
“Well…find a place to land” came through the radio. Thanks Don.
We had blown way off course. We were now downwind not just of the runway, but of the entire airport complex, and we had a choice: land somewhere in a neighborhood, land somewhere in a wooded area, or land in a big rock quarry. Don advised us to shoot for the quarry.
When you’re a novice jumper, you usually have a flat patch of grass that’s as big as a football field to land on, and there’s usually plenty of other open space nearby (runways and the grassy areas next to them are usually pretty long). All of a sudden, a hilly rock quarry that didn’t have any wind indicators seemed like a pretty hostile place to land. It was the best of our bad options though, so we went for it.
With Tony out of the picture, I was now the lead in the flight pattern. I made a series of turns to get us lined up for what looked like the longest stretch of the flattest ground at the bottom of the quarry. We floated below the horizon and became committed to our flight path.
We both stumbled and took a few bumps and bruises as we tried running out our landings on the side of a hill. We made it safely to the ground without any blood or major injuries. After the canopies fell to the ground, we excitedly checked in with each other and exaggerated to each other just how truly awesome we were with lots of laughs, wild gestures to help relive the experience, and congratulatory slaps on the back. As we took a deep breath and looked around the bottom of this hole, we realized that we didn’t even know which way we should start climbing up out of the quarry. With all the midair turns we did, we lost all sense of direction and couldn’t even point to the airport or the nearest road.
Something tells me that we weren’t the first wayward skydivers to land in this quarry. Before we could even decide what to do, two of our other instructors, in their goofy neon jumpsuits, appeared on the rim of the quarry, shouting and waving to us. We were rescued!
Some general perspective on living: Life isn’t always going to go the way you planned. There are going to be times you find yourself traveling through a disorienting fog. Sometimes you’ll feel abandoned by the people you depended on (or you simply can’t keep up with them). In those times, when you’re at the bottom of a hole, someone might just show up to help you. They may not be what you expected, but it’s still an opportunity to find out which way to climb out of the hole.
We’re passing through strange times; it might not be a bad idea to accept a hand up when it’s offered. Keep your chin up; brighter days are coming.
I’ve got three kids. It’s fun to watch them grow, figure stuff out, and then teach each other the things they’ve picked up over time.
My older two have figured out that when they’re scared of doing something, whether it’s go down in the basement or knock on a neighbor’s door, it’s usually not as bad if they take someone along with them. As a result, their little sister often ends up going down in the basement or knocking on a neighbor’s door along with them.
Taking it a step further, the two older kids are downright brave if they’re watching out for their little sister, even if it’s something that ordinarily gives them the willies.
Ever notice how you tend to be more brave if you’re watching out for someone? You can more easily pull yourself together in a bad situation when someone else depends on you. When someone else relies on you, it takes you out of yourself, and you can rise above your fears.
There are a lot of very anxious people out there these days. If you’re one of them, the first thing I’d probably recommend is to ease back on the amount of news coverage you take in. News reports aren’t known for their soothing nature. Beyond that, though, consider mentoring someone or helping them through the unique circumstances in which we now find ourselves. If you’re focused on helping someone else get through a difficult time, you spend less time worrying about how you are going to make it.
Don’t get me wrong, take care of yourself first. What I’m talking about is the extra time and energy you might waste worrying. I’ve heard it said that worrying is like rocking in a rocking chair; it gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.
If you’re prone to excess worry, take a look around and see who you can help settle. It’s going to be okay, but in order for some folks to believe that, they might need to hear it from you.
You know, the world has been dealing with a lot of serious stuff lately, so here’s an entry that has no point other than to entertain you.
In Air Force Basic Training, you’re part of a “flight” of anywhere between probably 40-60 people. In my particular flight, we probably had 45-50 guys that all showed up from across America and got thrown together to live in two giant rooms for the duration of Basic Training.
In Basic, we had to travel all over the base on foot. Imagine mass-processing people off the street and turning them into professional Airmen. In order to do this on an industrial scale, there are facilities set up exactly for this purpose. Getting clothing issued, haircuts, physical training, vaccinations, eating three times a day, going to medical appointments, getting financial accounts established, talking to counselors about your career choice and their additional requirements…it all needs to happen in an orderly fashion, and the Air Force has become pretty good at it.
To get anywhere, our instructors needed to march us between locations. I hated marching. Flights would march four trainees abreast and the column would extend as far back as it needed in order to include the entire flight. The tallest people would be in the front, decreasing in height the further back you go in the column. As one of the tallest guys in my flight, I was always very near the front of the group anytime we’d be marching anywhere. That’s fine, except you need to be paying close attention to the instructor’s commands to turn left or right, because you’ll have less time to react than if you’re in the back.
I don’t know what it is about Basic Training, but it has a way of making people that are ordinarily smart into…well…people that aren’t smart. Honest, most of the time I’m a smart guy. Put me in Basic Training, though, and I overthink things, question myself, stumble over my words, and agonize over whether I sufficiently folded my socks. Things that are not normally a big deal become obsessions. I hated Basic.
I don’t remember where we were coming from, but one day we were on our way to lunch. It was old hat for us at this point. Our flight usually got “parked” outside the door while we awaited our turn to go in. As we arrived we could see the “parking space” where our instructor was going to put us, but we needed to do a pair of turns to end up there. This is where I almost got myself into trouble.
To end up in our spot, we could either turn left and then right, or right and then left. I’m not sure what happened, but I somehow got it into my head that our instructor told us to turn right, but the flight of trainees had started turning left. I could have just gone along with everyone else, but in my sleep-deprived state I must have decided that no, we were all going to be punished somehow for not paying attention to the instructor’s verbal commands. Well not this guy!
In a rare flash of independent thought at Basic Training, I decided to strike out on my own and break away from the pack. When the entire column of men in my flight turned left, I turned right.
This was an absurd sight. Hopefully there were no cameras that caught this moment. If there were, I imagine it got lots of air time in the instructors’ lounge. I marched at the same cadence as everyone else, but in the opposite direction. Our instructor either didn’t notice or pretended not to see me. He gave the command for the second turn, and I don’t know which direction he said, but I didn’t care anymore, and took the opportunity to start moving back to rejoin the flight. I met back up perfectly with the group and slipped right back into the spot I had just left.
I don’t think anyone ever said anything to me, and to this day I honestly don’t know who was right (though I tend to believe the massive group of people who turned left probably outweighs the single schmuck who turned right and was out there marching around on his own).
I guess it’s true what they say…I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum. Thankfully it didn’t land me in hot water this time!
Hey, don’t be afraid to laugh at yourself. It’s rough out there these days, but things are looking up. Wash your hands and avoid groups of people, but if you think you can make someone smile with something as dumb as a story like this, go for it. We could all use a smile right now.
I’ve done two tandem jumps (where you’re connected to a licensed instructor) and 75 solo jumps. I’ve taken off in a plane 77 more times than I’ve landed in one. Cumulatively I’ve racked up just over 51 minutes of freefall.
To those that have never jumped, that might sound like a lot. For those in the know, though, it’s not that impressive. Seventy seven jumps is enough to know what you’re doing, but it’s nothing to brag about.
Contrast that with Don Kellner. He’s one of the owners of the drop zone where I learned to skydive, and is the Guinness World Record holder for most sport parachute jumps. In 2019 Don made his 45,000th jump! He probably doesn’t even remember the last time he landed in a plane.
I can’t find Don’s cumulative freefall total anywhere, but if you can measure mine in minutes, his can probably be measured in days or weeks. He’s performed over 10,000 tandem jumps; if he got 30 seconds of freefall for each one of those, that’s nearly three and a half days of his life he’s spent falling to the earth with someone else connected to his harness. The time he’s spent steering his parachute to the ground is in addition to that. Between plane rides up, freefalls, and parachute rides down, Don’s probably spent more than a year of his life off the ground.
Don and his team turn in his log books to make the record official after every thousandth jump, but in reality every jump Don Kellner makes is a new world record. Nobody has jumped as many times as him; every jump he makes is an endeavor nobody else has ever undertaken. Every single one is unprecedented.
I asked him once if any jump sticks out in his mind more than others, or if he ever had any especially dangerous problems during a jump. He recalled one jump where he tried to deploy his main chute, but when he tried, nothing happened. He then pulled the handle to open his reserve chute. Nothing happened then, either. Hurtling toward the earth without any functioning parachute, Don Kellner resigned himself to his fate. God must have smiled on him that day though, because one of the chutes shook loose and opened on its own, allowing Don to live to tell the tale.
He’s famous for not making a big deal of any particular jump. The folks around him have staged big events to commemorate big, round-number jumps, but leading up to it he always waves off the extra attention and says “just another jump.” It’s important to remember that jump number 45,000 could not have happened without jump number 26,373, without jump 999, or without jump 12.
Like Don, you and I lead lives that are record-setting in their own way. God calls us to a life of service in His honor. No two lives are the same. Each act of service we perform on Christ’s behalf, whether it’s something we’ve never done before or is the 45,000th time we’ve done the same thing, is unprecedented.
Also like Don, we don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to do the things God’s called us to do and what number “jump” will be our last. Sometimes we’re a part of doing something for God that’s surrounded by more fanfare, but most of the time our obedience is tied to things that are relatively unspectacular and rely on our regular faithfulness day after day.
That brings us to today. Each day we wake up presents opportunities to live for and honor God. Right now we live in very unusual times, which means we can collectively be faithful in ways we normally aren’t. I don’t know what that looks like for all of us, but you might already have a pretty good idea of how you can do the work God’s calling you to do.
Quarantines, social distancing, stay-at-home orders, and all the other recent buzz words result in a new (hopefully temporary) version of what we consider normal. There are a lot of lonely, confused, and/or scared people out there. In order to radiate God’s love during times of this “new normal,” we may need to take unprecedented steps to deliver it. From now until COVID-19 is a thing of the past, every day in a sense is a record-breaker in terms of the actions we take. We…you…are breaking new ground here, every day. Take the precautions you need to (and in some cases have been mandated to do), and within those parameters, have a look at practical new ways to love your neighbor.
And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ -Matthew 25:40
