Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)
I have this image in my mind clear as any sight my eyes have seen:
There is a girl standing at the edge of a great precipice, darkness all around. Nothing-dark. She can’t see that she’s at the lip of a sharp ledge, she simply knows. She can’t see the abyss directly before her, she simply knows.
Out of the darkness, through it, from it a voice says, “Come“. It says, “Come to me“.
The voice doesn’t tell her to step from the firmament beneath her, she simply knows. She must move forward. It’s the only way. This she knows.
But how? There’s nothing to step to, nothing to hold her. How does she cross to the voice in the darkness, the voice filling her, pulling, calling “come“.
And yet she lifts her foot, pauses, poised, arms lifted up and out like a balancing ballerina. Against every fear-filled cry inside her she leans back, points her toe, presses her leg forward
and steps out,
of stone beneath her
into the darkness. The nothing-dark.
And as sure as she was about the earth under her, the ledge before her, the deep dark hole ahead of her
her foot lands lightly on His palm; His hand outreached the moment she stepped forward, the moment she dared to come, the moment she had faith. The moment she believed.
I’d like to be that girl.
Instead I’m a woman with her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she peers over the edge, her feet firmly planted.