There is a video on my hard drive that documents four and a half minutes of my life. I was flying, like a bird. Well, more like a bird in a hurricane. It was my long-awaited attempt at indoor skydiving. The advertisements were so appealing, and it looked like a lot of fun – and not all that hard.

Having arrived a few minutes early I had an opportunity to watch a few pre-teens take flight toward the end of their session. A small, lithe instructor was gripping one leg and one arm of one of his students, as they soared above the ginormous fan, twirling, screaming and laughing. I was ready.

After several minutes of instruction concerning hand signs and safety practices and a video in which indoor skydivers were flying high, doing summersaults and other stunts, we were asked to sign a release form, just in case things did not go well. Then we suited up. This meant removing my glasses and finagling into gloves, special shoes, oversized coveralls, and a helmet. I then put on special goggles and inserted ear plugs. With a limited field of vision, limited hearing, and no personal experience, the instructor and I stepped into the famous wind tunnel where astronauts once trained. 

My instructor rehearsed a few hand signals and had me practice crash landing, then he had me step back as the operator put the fan into full mode. He threw himself, face-first, toward the center of the ring and was instantly airborne, flying above my head with his legs and arms sprawling forward and aft in a half-bent formation. Again, he made it look easy.

Now it was my turn. He motioned form me to fall face-first toward the center of the fan. As I did so, I did not immediately soar. But neither did I hit the wire floor below. My instructor was gripping my over-alls, in an attempt to keep me in the center of the wind tunnel. Once centered, I rose six or eight feet into the air. The wind was noisy and beat at my whole body making me feel like I used to feel as a child when my family drove down the highway at high speeds with all the windows down.

I was trying to remember all the tips. Relax. Bend your arms and legs. Let the wind carry you. I thought I was complying, but my instructor seemed to be struggling to keep me in the air. Then he threw me to the edge of the circle where I tucked and rolled onto the padded seating area.

After helping me to my feet, he signed to me that I should be more relaxed and not so stiff.  I later learned that I was inadvertently pushing against the wind with my hands and feet, causing my body to veer off course. My second attempt may have been even worse. I could tell my instructor, who was not as heavy as I am, was earning his wages that day.

Four flights in less than five minutes, and both myself and my instructor were ready for someone else to try. My problem was that I had a very difficult time relaxing, as it was not normal for me to be flying, face down over a wire floor. If I had the time and money to pursue the sport, I might eventually gain enough trust and confidence to keep myself centered and even do a few summersaults. But for now, trust is counterintuitive.

Come to think of it, trusting God can be just as challenging. But flying with Him will be worth the time and effort.