Lately life has felt like the ferris wheel I went on when I was a kid. Although I was terrified of heights, I still got on the ride. I didn’t want to miss out on the adventure, and I assumed if I got too scared all I had to do was yell “Let me off!” and they’d stop the ride.
That didn’t happen.
The operator laughed at my 9-year-old screams. I was forced to endure the terror, going ’round and ’round on that rickety thing, my eyes squeezed shut as I waited for the ordeal to end.
As an adult, my “ferris wheel” is fear of the unknown, overwhelming doubt about God’s calling on my life, insecurities about who I am and whose I am, and crippling anxieties about my health and the health of my family. The “operator” of this ride smirks as I fly backwards, his hand on the controls with no intention of letting up.
I don’t want to live my life that way. The troubles of this world might have their hands on the controls for a time, but in the midst of the struggle God’s glory is revealed. I wonder what I might see, if only I had the courage to open my eyes and take in the view.