He stopped his pickup in front of the house. It was a beautiful spring day. We, my wife and I, were working in the flower beds at the front of the house. He was a “colorful” character. We had known him for a while, and he was a part of the church with us. I had gone fishing with him and visited his farm many times. Anyway, he opened the passenger side door. Then he called to me, “Get in and go with me.”  I asked, “Where are we going?”  He answered, “Just get in.”  We each repeated our statements. So, I asked, “When will we get back?”  He said, “Just get in.”  I said, “I need to tell my wife when I will be back.”  He then said, “Never mind.”  He pulled the door to the truck closed and left. I stood and wondered if I had made a mistake.  I still do not know. Maybe I should have taken the leap.

Several years earlier, when I was about fifteen, four of us (guys that is) went from Tulsa to Gans, Oklahoma. On the way, we stopped at Lake Tenkiller. We stopped at the overlook, just west of the dam. We parked the car and then walked toward the safety fence that guarded the high sheer bluffs. Crossing over the fence, we followed some paths to the rock ledges overlooking the lake and just north of the dam area. The oldest guy among us called on the rest of us to follow his lead. He readied himself, leaped, and made a magnificent swan dive to the water far below. The others of us watched his flight into the water and saw him return to the surface. He waved to us as a challenge to get us to join him. Not one of us had ever made such a daring leap. At the same time no one wanted to appear to be a “chicken.” To make this short story long, we finally followed him. Only one of us dove headfirst. The other two of us cautiously dropped with our feet reaching the water first. Even falling feet first, it was a bit scary. No doubt, none of us would have leapt from the cliff without the one who challenged us to leap. After more than fifty years, there is still the memory of that challenging leap.  It was a small event, but it still registers. Any leap of faith carries risks and can incite some fear. Still, when they are taken, when paralysis is overcome, when fear inciting voices are quelled, those leaps often prove to be the milestones of a more successful life.

Every leap requires some level of faith; no matter what purpose it fulfills. Often, a leap of faith is associated with spiritual matters, especially associated with God. Yet, honesty and experience show that such faith is required in every aspect of life. The future always holds an extremely limited view of the yet unknown. Most of the time faith is the substance on which action “hang its hat”.  As a description, Soren Kierkegaard describes a passionate commitment to belief or action that transcends human reason, logic, and empirical evidence as a “leap of faith.”  On the other hand, Francis Schaeffer referred to such action as a “step” of faith. No matter what definition is assigned, faith is at the heart of any venture not yet tried. 

An easily overlooked line strove to scream from the page of a recent book.  It was not new, or even original line. Still, it is proverbial and prophetic at the same time. The writer repeated the often-heard line: “As you look back on life it will not be the things that you have done that will bring the most regret. It will be the things that you could have done but didn’t.”

Few of the “leaps of faith” that we take will be as physically risky as a leap from a high bluff into unknown waters.  Even so, those that we might consider small steps may be as important as any. When he took that pioneering step onto the surface of the moon, Neil Armstrong is noted for his statement: “One small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.”  Few would think of stepping from the lunar module onto the moon’s surface as a small step. It was only small in comparison to all the complex efforts involved in building, launching, and guiding a spaceship from the earth to land on the moon.  Every step along the way was something of a leap of faith.

What steps will be taken today? What will be seen as a challenge or a risk? Whatever those steps or leaps may be, whether large or small, here is to hope that we readily seek the good that may come as we take them. So, maybe we need to hear a few words from Lee Ann Womack’s popular song: “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean. Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens. Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance. And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance; I hope you dance.”  When the challenge of faith calls, take the leap.

Russell L. Dyer

January 17, 2026

Reflections on things already known and possibly stored in the depths of memory are powerful instruments toward emotional response.  Reflective thoughts of the past often bring laughter or tears that may have been absent in real time.  Events that we have glossed a multitude of times, may be brought to the surface to touch us deeply. 

Sometimes it takes a while for the emotions to be released and find their way to the surface.  Think about it.  There have been those times for just about every one of us.  We thought we had fully understood some person or event, only later to see something we missed.  More than missed, what is recognized at a later time may have been blocked by some sense of personal protection.  By prohibiting complete emotional observation vulnerability is much more limited.  Thus, even clearly stated love doesn’t always mean all that it should.

There should be no doubt that Simon Peter loved Jesus.  He stated that he was ready to die with Jesus.  His words were bold.  He surely thought he meant it.  Yet, just hours later he was denying that he even knew Jesus.  His view of Jesus, even as he closely followed Him, was limited by personal perception as well as personal protection.  The bold claim of Peter had been met by the contrary words of Jesus.  So, when he met that moment of personal challenge Peter was forced to see Jesus and thus to see himself in a different light.  Then the words of Jesus spun freely in his head.  Jesus had said to him, “Before the rooster crows, you will deny Me three times (Matthew 26:75).”  So when he realized what he had done, “he went out and wept bitterly”.  Eye opening moments can be hard to take.  Those moments can easily lead to a flow of tears.

Maybe I have always been a bit emotionally touchable, but it seems that the older I get the easier it is for things to strike my emotions.  I sometime find that even Hallmark commercials often squeeze my heart and wet my eyes.  Even more, seeing the pictures of my grandchildren or watching them in person pulls at my soul.  I need not even mention the power of my wife and children in my heart.

Anyway, something caught my attention the other day, and it stabbed me deeply in my heart.  It was just a couple of days after Christmas.  I had showered and was just about dressed.  I “turned on” the television just to see what movie might be playing.  I just wanted a little background distraction. In that season, so many of the programs and movies had centered around the Christmas holiday with many of those programs taking note of the birth of Jesus.  I was not looking to watch another Christmas story that day.  I found something a little different.  The old classic movie “Ben Hur”, staring Charleton Heston was well underway on one of the channels.  In fact, it was near the end of the movie.  It had been quite a while since I had seen it.  So, I paused to watch for a few moments.  The movie had reached the part where Judah Ben Hur (Charlton Heston) had found his leprous mother and sister.  He was taking them to see the teacher, Jesus.  Unfortunately, they were a bit late.  For, Jesus was on His way to be crucified.  Their paths crossed.  Judah saw Jesus fall and recognized Him as the man who had given him water at a terrible time in his life.  Judah tried to return the favor and give water to Jesus.  Yes, I know that those events were drawn from fiction and were added for dramatic atorytelling.  Still, that scene had a powerful effect on me.  I found myself watching the depiction of Jesus struggling to drag his cross upward on some stone steps, falling in the process.  The thorn crown was on his head.  His heavily burdened actions showed an abused body that was more than weary.  At the same time, the expression on Judah’s face amplified the sadness and tension of the moment.  I was overwhelmed.  It was as if I had never pictured the scene of what Jesus had to face in His final hours.

I felt the tears as they slipped from my eyes and flowed downward across my cheeks.  I was glad I was alone.  Quietly, I said to myself, “I can’t believe He did that.  I can’t believe He did that for me.”  How many times have I read and told the story?  How many times have I shared the message of Jesus’ sacrifice?  How many times have I calmly reflected on what He did?  I can’t begin to count them all.  At that moment, I was in tears.  It was as if I had never given thought to what He had done.  I needed to feel that moment.  I needed to have the thoughts of what He did, and to have them refreshed in my heart and mind.  I needed those tears.  Yes, I know I am aging and many of the “bravado” attitudes of life are slipping into the past.  Still, all the callouses of life’s challenges stand as guardians working to hinder the feelings that result in the expression of tear-filled emotions.  And yet, at that moment they came easily and fully to the surface. 

Dressed, I turned off the television and went about my other activities.  At the same time, I carried, and continue to carry, the impact of that moment.

Some time ago, a friend who invited me to speak at an event introduced me as the funniest preacher he knew.  That guy needed a larger circle of preachers.  Still, anyone who knows me knows that I love to poke fun, laugh, and enjoy good humor.  I dish it, and it is dished back at me.  I love it.  Still, it seems there is within me an emotional child.  I’m glad to know, embarrassing as it may be, that such a child still lives within. 

I hope I can always be touched and brought to tears.  I hope we all can.

Russell L. Dyer

January 8, 2026