I hate heights. I cannot for the life of me pinpoint where this fear originated from, just one day I felt this way.
When I was in middle school, my friend Alex's dad owned a Skydiving Ranch. I would go stay the night at his house, and the next day we'd work at the hangar. There were some weird guys working out there. There was a guy with purple hair named Marco, but everyone called him Polo, another guy with a green mohawk nicknamed Fetus, and a 7 foot tall canadian, but I forget his name. These guys would go skydiving everyday with a camera strapped to their helmet and they'd film people diving. After they finished, Alex and I would take the footage and edit it, then add music, and make a print of the cassette (I know, old school). I so badly wanted to go diving. I told my mom that when I turned 16, as long as I had her permission, Alex's dad said he'd take us diving.
But 16 rolled around, and I knew there was something wrong with jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. I wouldn't do it. I must have seen at least 100 jumps, and I knew the chutes wouldn't fail (they never had before). I knew what would happen. The plane would take off, I'd tandem jump, at a certain footage I'd pull the chute, and we'd land. But saying I know it and doing it are 2 different things. Saying I know it but not doing it still means I didn't do it.
And even if I did jump, no matter how many times I say the chute will save me won't make it true. I have to pull the chute.
What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?
James 2:14 ESV
Our actions must always reflect our words because our words won't do anything.