Leap of Faith

Over the rumble of the engines, we checked each other’s gear: helmet, masks, oxygen, goggles, altimeter, main chute, reserve chute, night vision, communications, harness, and tactical gear. Loose straps, unsecured equipment, and misrouted lines were a no-go. Fix it or get left behind. That was the business.

Despite the muffled roar of the engines beneath my helmet, I stayed focused on the task ahead as we stood up from our benches and performed one final check before the evening’s training hop. I was excited but calm. This was my first night drop ever.

The roar increased dramatically as the tail ramp opened like the maw of a fearsome beast, revealing the dark night beyond the bay of our transport. My instincts rebelled against what came next. But that wouldn’t stop me because other warriors were with me. We depended on each other and I wouldn’t back down no matter what. For better or worse, this was it.

With a green light and a pat on the shoulder, we waddled in rapid order to the edge of darkness and tumbled out of the C-130 Hercules at around 19,000 feet. Into the maw of the beast we fell, quickly enveloped by the night and cold wind. Ahead of me the horizon, the stars, and the chem lights worn by the others were my only references to stay oriented with my group as we fell like one, balanced on the wind. This was actually fun, and my fear was now gone. The wait was always worse than the jump.

It never feels like falling. It feels more like a cushion of air is holding you up. But that is the deception, because one glance at the altimeter near my wrist was all I needed to verify that the ground was rising up to meet me at 10,300 feet per minute. I reminded myself not to fixate on the stars. Keeping a close eye on my altimeter was critical because, at 5,000 feet, I had to pull my ripcord without delay. If I failed to do this for some reason, the reserve chute would automatically deploy at 2,000 feet, saving my life. Failure was not an option.

After a final glance at my altitude, I tugged, then felt a jolt and yank as my main chute deployed. Within a few minutes, I was on the ground with a pleasant thud in an open field with fifty pounds of gear.

I think I was around 26 years old. It was my most memorable jump.

After many leaps of faith, I learned to stay oriented and trust my equipment. It was there to protect me from the fall.

“He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.” Psalm 91:4