Right now, ski jumping is on the Olympics. These athletes slide out onto this tenny tiny little seat, skis dangling in the air, and stare down a steep, impossibly high hill. (My stomach would turn inside out.)

I'm not sure that's the worst part.

Once they touch skis to snow, they have passed the point of no return. There's no stopping it. At the bottom, they're going to be airborne: one way or another. It's either going to be pretty, or it's going to be the most spectacular "agony of defeat" known to man.

If I had to guess, I'd say they have to trust their skis, their training, and physics. Without that trust, things won't go well.

Ooh, wait. There's that trust word again. Sometimes, God puts us on a teeny tiny little seat at the top of a steep, impossibly high hill. And then He says, "Trust me."

There are three choices: sit on the little ledge forever and wonder what might have been, try to do it without trusting Him and tumble down the hill in a flailing mass of body parts, or trust Him...

...and fly.

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