When the Wind Blows and the Tide Turns

Reflections from a Daughter, a Minister, and a Woman Who Jumped

I didn’t tell anyone I was going skydiving. Not at first.

My mom and I had a conversation about all of the adventures we had when I was growing up. My mom is the one who taught me to fish and took me camping for the first and second time. It was only fitting for her birthday, this year, that we side-stepped ziplining and bungee jumping and went straight for skydiving.

I told my job I was taking a mental health day. I didn’t post a countdown or share my intentions online. The night before, I called my mom to freak out a little. She wasn’t ready to freak out. She was finishing up some work and watching T.V. So I went to bed in prayer, thinking about my health insurance, my life insurance policies and a little unsettled that I didn’t know who would pick daughter up from the bus if I didn’t come home.

The next morning, with all gratitude, I woke up that morning, quietly thanked God for everything that we have, today… even the privilege of trying a high intensity sport. I put my daughter on the bus and prayed deeply for her and my son.

My mom and I set intentions. Independently, we assessed what we would leave on the plane, and then what we would shed while free falling for the 14,000 feet jump. We thought we’d ride together and unpack these deeper meanings together, but the time made room for something a little different.

Once I put my daughter on the bus, I turned to my phone to see 3 missed calls from my mom, and a voicemail notification. When I called my mom to tell her that I was in route, she’d turned around… heading home… She left a voicemail and had decided not to jump.

I was calm. I’d already set my intentions to move in the direction of my desired outcome, so there was no stopping me.

I immediately reminded my mom that “overthinking takes up an additional 15-20 mins, no matter what your final decision is”, and we just didn’t have time for that. After further discussion, pep talking and a resolve to stay in motion, because we had a 2-hour drive to the facility, we both realized that the very things we’d named to leave on the plane and to shed in the air, joined us on this call. They were like the red line on the GPS letting you know that you have a delay and that there was a slow-down on your route. From overthinking, to fear, we processed it all the way there. 

It was her birthday month, and I wanted to close it out with something we would never forget. The more resistance we confronted, the more I realized this wasn’t just a gift to her. It was something I needed. It was something I couldn’t articulate until we were already 14,000 feet in the air.

I was nervous, yes. But more than that, I was expecting change. I had been feeling God pulling me into a new season, and I wasn’t transitioning well. I had been tight, overthinking, overexplaining, and overperforming. There were things I’d asked God to do in my life, but my posture had not caught up to my prayers. I was still trying to micromanage miracles.

So I wrote in my journal that morning: I want to leave the overthinking on the plane. The rigidity. The suspicion. The fear that comes from disappointment. I want to feel what it’s like to land, safely, without controlling everything mid-air.

That was the beginning.

The jump itself was something else.

I thought I’d be going first. But I ended up being the last one out… and the first to land. (womp, womp)

I wanted to enjoy the freefall, but the truth is, I spent most of it focused on trying to do everything correctly. I was so concerned about following the instructions, remembering the steps, getting it right, that I almost missed what was happening: I was flying. I was alive. And the sky didn’t need me to perform.

My instructor laughed at me during the free-fall. I could feel him chuckling behind me. And I wasn’t offended. I think it was the first time in a long time that someone had laughed at me with such lightness, no edge, no sarcasm, no cruelty. Just presence. Just joy.

Interestingly, we’d had a discussion about recovery and the journey of sobriety and that helped me. In that scream-heavy, wind-whipped chaos, I relaxed because he demystified the chaos associated with the weights that brought me to this moment.

There was another moment that surprised me. I had not done my hair. And I mean like fitted cap not done. I wanted to feel camera-ready. I wanted to feel good about the way I looked in this footage that would live forever, without looking like someone else. But the fitted cap I wore had to come off. No helmet. No barrier. And that exposed me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just vanity, it was the quiet grief of losing the covering I had created for myself. Hair, for me, has never been just hair. Its been a journey. It’s been a form of preparation. Protection. Control. And in that moment, I was forced to let even that go.

And still—I landed.

When I got back to regular life that afternoon, the phone calls resumed. I had to check in with my team at work. My daughter needed to be picked up from the bus stop. Nothing paused. Nothing changed on the outside.

But I was not the same.

I had felt something that I couldn’t un-feel. I had encountered God in motion. Not in the quiet of my room. Not in the words of a sermon. But in the wind. In the air. In the moment where I chose to let go and trust that I would be held.

My sermon the following week was called “When the Wind Blows and the Tide Turns.” It came out of this experience. I talked about Genesis and Acts, about the Spirit hovering and then rushing in, about how God doesn’t always speak through order. Sometimes, God speaks through velocity. Through rupture. Through breath. Through change.

And I told the church what I’ll tell you now:

Sometimes, God waits for us in the leap.

Not just in the outcome.In the act of letting go.

This video, this blog post, this whole story—it’s not just about skydiving. It’s about surrender. About softness. About what happens when we choose to stop rehearsing life and finally live it.

So yes, my cheeks flapped. My leg went numb. My hair wasn’t secure.But I did it.My mom did it.We jumped.We landed.

And we are freer than we were before.

She jumped for her birthday. I jumped for my freedom. We jumped for something new to be birthed.