My gangly instructor guided me through the weight room into the cage where ten monkey-like creatures performed acrobatics. They flung themselves from pole to pole and jumped from one wooden box to the next. I sensed the skepticism on their youthful faces as I slowly passed them. Who is this guy? What is he doing here? Little did they know I’d earn their respect in less than an hour. However, these aerial gymnasts were human, and this was a parkour training center.
Earlier that day, I had called the gym and inquired about a lesson. It was my 40th birthday, and I wanted to learn a backflip. (Officially, it is named a “back tuck.”) Why not celebrate two scores of life with physically challenging myself—or by breaking my neck? “We can try to teach you” was their snarky response on the phone. Try? It was “game on” at that point. I watched some YouTube videos then drove to their gym a couple of hours later.
The monkey’s ears perked when they beheld an older guy sauntering into their adult-like jungle gym. My seventeen-year-old teacher looked at me with askance, but his skepticism waned as he saw my determination. The young man instructed me on several warm-up exercises. First, I jumped as high I could several times. Then, I launched myself in the air and drove my knees to my chest. Finally, I practiced arching my back and looking behind me as I fell flat on the mat. After thirty-five minutes, I was ready to try an unaided backflip. Only two viable options presented themselves. Either I’d launch myself into an emotional Elysium and complete a backflip, or I’d be driven to the E.R.
Before I knew which one, my adolescent adviser gave me some surprising wisdom, and I’ll never forget it. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he said, “The only thing I require of you is a full commitment.” Those are wise words from a teenager. He was right: Half backflips don’t exist. There are not even ninety-percent backflips. You either rotate your body 360 degrees, or you land on the part of your body that will get you an expensive van ride with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Yoda from Star Wars had similar words for his padawan, Luke: “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Likewise, this was a do-or-not-do situation for me, but fear crept in. I didn’t want spotters. I was standing on a mat, but I didn’t have the safety of a foam pit. I thought, What if I jump up, stall, and freak out? What if I land on my head? What if this is my last birthday on earth? Those were all real possibilities if I was to half-commit. But I was going to do this. It was time for total commitment.
I stood there, facing forward, and got into the zone. I can do this. I jumped up and simultaneously threw my arms to the sky, looked backward, and successfully rotated around. I had completed a backflip. After two more tries, I threw my body up in the air again and landed standing up. If you want to impress a gaggle of teenagers, walk into a parkour gym when you’re 40 and do a backflip. These guys were stoked. I was stoked. Everyone was stoked. It was a stoke-fest.
It’s not difficult to apply this lesson of commitment to every part of life. Our work, spouses, and faith require our 100% commitment. You can’t follow Jesus by going halfway. Jesus doesn’t need eighty-five-percent disciples. Our best isn’t found by committing a majority of our lives to the Lord. Remember, the apostles left “everything” to follow Jesus. We can’t only believe God when our circumstances make us happy. We can’t “walk as Jesus did” if we live a half-committed life. If you do, you might land on your head.
It takes faith to go for it. There is no other way to do a backflip unless you fully commit to what you cannot see. I jumped and looked at the ceiling and trusted that my body would rotate as I brought my knees to my chest. It did. The Bible says that “Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see” (Hebrews 11:1, NLT). As John Wimber said, faith is spelled R-I-S-K.
Whether you tumble through life or at the gym, all of us will take a few knocks along the way. The mat I landed on was soft compared to the hard landings that our failures often present us. But we must keep going forward or, in gymnastic terms, keep spinning. Rocky Balboa was right when he said, “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!” Amen. And that is how we do life. I’ve shared a few hits, and I’m sure you have, too. Keep going.
I was fortunate to make it around the first time I attempted the back tuck. I wonder what else I can do if I fully commit? What about you? Are there areas where you would thrive if you gave 100%? Love with all your heart, my friends. Keep trying cool stuff, and give a hundred percent to whatever is important to you.
