Playdates: Trampoline

There are things that cannot be explained--like the way the children’s voices called to me through the snow that evening. I was minding my own business (or, rather, the dog’s business), taking LucyMae and Maybelline for a quick jaunt around the house. The snow was falling like a blanket—in thick wet sheets that pooled on my skin, wetting my hair and making me blink.

That’s when I heard them. Their laughter echoed over to me—sliding between those big wet flakes through the neighborhood streets until it found a home in my waiting ear. I had to go see.

I followed the laughter through the yard, across the street, and found it in the house behind. I peeked. Two boys—soaked to their skin, jumping on a trampoline.

I am not a fan of the trampoline. I work with those who have suffered spinal cord injuries and brain injuries. I know the statistics. But as I watched those two boys jumping and giggling and sliding onto their backs on that trampoline in the snow…I remembered.

To be a child means not to fear. Trust is buoyed when feet leave solid ground and land safely again. I watched those boys bound up and down, laughter bubbling over with each flight.

I felt a nudge in my spirit. And I yearned.

What is it about catching that free air—that sky jump that lifts endlessly? Is it the way we leave the earth behind? Does it shake loose the bindings of this loamy existence?

I kept thinking about the trampoline.

God is inviting me to play and it makes me nervously giddy. On my next morning off, after I take the boys to school…I know where I’m going.

I take the dogs-- in case I chicken out. We’re just out for a walk on a pretty day, right? I have a good talk with Him on the way. My neighbor is sweet, Lord, I say, but she may just think I’ve lost my mind.

And then I think of something that nearly makes me turn around.

What if her husband answers the door?

I rehearse what I will say.

May I play on your trampoline?

Too weird.

I’m doing this thing, playing with God, and well, He told me to jump on your trampoline.

Just take me to the funny farm now.

With no definitive plan I approach the door. In fear and trembling, I push the doorbell.

No answer.

I peer through the side light windows. It’s all dark inside.

What now, Lord?

Slowly, I walk around the house to the backyard. I stare at the trampoline. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this. Is it against the law to jump on someone’s trampoline without permission? I know my neighbor wouldn’t mind—she might even join me. But still…

I tie the dogs to the legs of the thing. Slip off my shoes. Two sets of canine eyes look at me, questioning.

I won’t be long, I tell them.

And I do. I jump. Slow at first, but with each landing on the heel—each pushing off with the balls of my feet—I go higher. And I am unfettered.

The earth falls below—becomes small. I leave things behind. I am flying. The laughter comes when I remember the boys and I fall in a heap of giggles, letting the strong fabric embrace my body. There is no snow, only sun and blue and I can see heaven from where I am.

We sigh together, Him and me, as we cradle in the trampoline and I ask, Should I tell my neighbor?

I am wondering if anyone else saw. Were prying eyes peeking out of windows?

Never mind, He says. Maybe next time we’ll ask her to come along.

And I walk lighter all the day long.

How about you? How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. And come tell us about it.



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Linking up with L.L. Barkat today for On, In, and Around Mondays...

Visit me over at the HighCalling today for our weekly bookclub discussion on The Spirit of Food. Some yummy conversation going on over there.