I Cling From the Rooftops

"My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me". - Psalm 63:8, NRSV

I have never fallen off of a building, but I have seen it. There are countless movies in which a hero slips from the roof, catching himself on a rain gutter or pole jutting conveniently from the side of this formidable structure. The coincidental placement of these life saving items always makes me roll my eyes, but secretly I am relieved to spare another life from the perils of a rooftop. I can only hope, that in this situation, I too would have the luck of a gargoyle or flag holder to cling to, upon my descent.

I would be a terrible heroine. I am a physical klutz. I have no doubt that if placed on a high rooftop, I would end up in a free fall from my sheer nature. I am also a spiritual klutz, which never lends itself to heroism. I stumble over the smallest of opportunities. Often, I will trip over the opportunity to envelop a sister into relationship. Instead, I keep her out by comparison, unwillingness and exclusion. I assess my figure against her figure, my circumstance against circumstance, my influence against her influence. My nature sets my in harm's way, high on the rooftops in the rain, and then it lures me to my descent.

There on the rooftop I stand, busy with my mental successes and failures while I do not seem to sense my gradual slide to the edge.

If I were a hero in a movie, I could handle this situation with brute strength, simply by grabbing the nearest rain gutter to pull myself up. I am not a hero. I am too out of shape and inexperienced to overcome this enemy. I am simply a housewife, a woman and a wife. I can only hold on so long. My strength will give out.

I know what is about to happen.

But, at that moment, before my fingers deceive me, what if, instead, it became effortless? What if I realized that I did not cling to a rain gutter or gargoyle, but a hand. After a few moments, I can ease my grip and I remain secure. The hand is assured.

What if the longer I hang there, clinging to this Life Saver, the more my hand and His seem to meld into one homogeneous mass? And, the longer I hang there, the less my body becomes aware of the problematic sway at my windy height?

What if clinging becomes my salvation, instead of the death of my strength? His hand can do what both of mine could not produce.

One day, I look up and I find that it is no longer my hand to which this Life Saver clings, but my soul. In His right hand I rest, and I do not ascend to the rooftops alone, anymore.

If you have not been there already, check out Kristen's (editor of Exemplify) series on leadership. She just started it today, and it has already challenged me!