If you’re a long-time reader, you may know there’ve been times in my life where God’s been very gracious in assigning me guardian angels that were really on the ball.
In high school I got into rappelling. It was lots of fun, and I looked for different places and opportunities to do it. I got to zip down the elevator shaft of a building under construction, repeatedly jump off an old antenna tower, and even descend onto a stage in front of a live audience while upside-down a couple of times.

One of the first times I volunteered to use this “talent” for something other than myself was for a video advertisement for a youth group fundraiser we were hosting at our church. I worked with a guy that agreed to film it, and we went to a multi-purpose room/auditorium nearby to make the ad. The place had a drop ceiling with those Styrofoam-like tiles, and I was going to pop down out of it, look around, and say something like “hey, anyone know where the spaghetti dinner is?” (I think the premise was that if it had something cool like rappelling, it didn’t need to make any sense.)
I’m pretty sure at that point I hadn’t yet done anything complex when it came to rappelling. It was mostly out of trees or off something pretty straightforward. Here I had to climb up into the drop ceiling, hunch over and scoot along the wooden planks and steel trusses in a crawlspace that was probably only about 3 feet high while dragging my gear along, then crouch uncomfortably and try to avoid muscle spasms while I set the anchors and figured out how to safely fall through a two-foot by two-foot opening when my rappelling profile was much larger than two feet.
I didn’t really think about it much at the time, but it turns out this was remarkably dangerous, especially for someone so inexperienced. If my present-day self could communicate with my then-self, there’d likely be some yelling about the bone-headed, unnecessarily risky nature of it all. I was probably 15 or 16, clambering along the framework of the roof probably 25-30 feet above a concrete floor. I’d seen the floor view of the drop ceiling lots of times before, but it was all dark and dusty up above, and the tiles hid the fact that it was a long way down. Up in the ceiling there were very few safe places to stop and rest; if a foot or hand slipped and I fell, those thin little tiles were nowhere near strong enough to catch me. While scooting out to where I wanted to be, I couldn’t see the danger, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.

The fact that I couldn’t see the floor way down below helped mask just how dangerous the situation was. It was still crazy unsafe (even foolish) for me to do what I was doing, but since the drop ceiling was only a foot or two beneath my feet, it made me feel more comfortable than I should have. I was hunched over or crouched for extended periods, sweat beading up on my forehead, with no safety attachments as I scrambled along. If the ceiling had been open and I had seen how high I was, in addition to the struggles I was dealing with, I probably would have had the good sense to say “ehhhh, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Being ignorant of danger doesn’t make us any safer. I wonder how many of us are dealing with very dangerous things, either knowingly or unknowingly, that could have a serious impact on our spiritual lives, the relationships we hold dear, or some other aspect of our lives. Maybe there’s something you’re doing that “isn’t going to hurt anybody,” or “isn’t as bad as the thing what’s-her-name is doing,” but you know it’s not something the Lord would approve of. I pray you’d see and become fully aware of the danger it poses (whether spiritually, physically, or otherwise), and have the good sense you need to make the right choice about continuing to engage in such things.
Lord, we all have blind spots in our lives. I ask that You’d highlight the things we’re doing or not doing in our lives which we should re-evaluate, and please give us the sense to make choices removing us from danger we would have otherwise brought on ourselves. These things I ask in Your name, Amen.