So today marks my first official day as a “self-supporting” full-time writer. And—no joke—I’m a little petrified.

I’ve fancied jumping off this cliff for a long time. I’d stand a few feet from the edge gazing up into the bright, clear sky, feeling God’s warmth and comfort penetrate my heart and brush my fears aside like an annoying gnat. I’d let my knowledge of his faithfulness to the generations before me (Hebrews 12) fill my mind. With my face glowing and radiating in his light, I’d step up to edge.

But then the world would cast a shadow over me, like clouds over the sun. My eyes would flutter open and bulge. Looking down at the rocks below, I’d wonder why anyone in their right mind would jump off a perfectly good piece of solid ground.

I could still see His light as it reflected off the landscape as far as my eyes could see (and that should have been enough for me), but now his power and my faith were somehow diffused. So, as I had done so many times before, I stepped back from the edge.

And I’ve been doing that dance for about 20 years. (He’s so patient. Who else would wait two decades for me to respond?)

I thought my faith was so strong. I believed God could heal my marriage after a 4-year separation and he did. But he isn’t letting me rest in that victory. That adventure in the desert was side street, an errand, a bump in the road, a jaunt in the journey. There’s so many other untraveled paths he wants to take me down, places that I can’t even dream of (Ephesians 3:20).

But I had to step off the cliff.

And now I have.

I haven’t choked on the adrenaline yet. But I’ll let you know how I’m doing in a week.