ZIPPED TO FREEDOM


I fly 35 miles an hour through the air strapped in a nylon harness attached to a pulley on a steel cable. The landscape rushes past in a blur of greens and blues. I've never been so frightened in my 73 years, never been so exhilarated, never felt so alive. I'm doing the zip line, 800 feet of daring through a lush forest in Oregon on a sunny Saturday in July.

In the summer of 2006 I needed to rearrange the scenery of my mind. I volunteered to serve on staff for a missionary training program in Salem, Oregon. The popular leadership course, "Salem Ropes," led by straight-talking, no-nonsense Jeff Nelson shares the campus facility. "Salem Ropes" is a series of physical and mental challenges that tests trust, self confidence and teamwork. Jeff offered his weekend training to our students and staff. He called for a 9 am start on the lawn near the dining area where we did some ground-level team building games.

But soon a familiar clammy fear arises. I can't even walk up the hill to the first high element, the dreaded zip line. I fall back on an old manipulative technique. "I'll meet you there," I say, confidently thinking I can disappear when they look the other way. I think I've copped a ruse until I see four hardy, panting men approaching fast, toting an olive drab nylon stretcher. "Get on," they ordered and took off running before I could recite my 10 reasons why this was undignified and humiliating. I feel like I'm in the middle of a scene from "MASH."

I'm carried back to the waiting circle of starters. My objections are hooted at. "Who cares about embarrassment? You're a member of the group. You can't be left out. Every member is important. You are important."

I'm near tears. No one ever said that to me before. I was the little "polio girl" with heavy leg braces who stayed in at recess playing jacks alone because it was too complicated to haul me down the school stairs.

I was the Colonel's obstinate daughter who tortured the unfortunate First Lieutenant who pulled duty as my tutor for home schooling.

For the next six hours alternating litter bearers carry my stretcher from station to station in the hilly forest of the "Salem Ropes" course. Suddenly it is my turn to brave the zip line. I'm hoisted up to the tree platform for a solo run of sheer terror. My harness is latched securely to a sturdy cable but I am already filled with fear. When the latch is released, the impact of my body weight on the stretched cable produces a metallic scream that cannot be described. I whiz through the trees and over roof tops too exhilarated to shout to those below! My 800 foot journey is over in seconds and I am fetched at the end point, placed onto my MASH stretcher and hurried off to the next terrifying trial of courage.

We rest briefly between stations in the cool shade of the towering Douglas firs with the strong aroma of fresh cedar chips carpeting the damp ground. I've never experienced the pungent smell of wood chips or the fragrance of the forest. My sweat even smelled good, smelled brave.

Jeff shares how the "Salem Ropes" elements are similar to God testing our trust. Are we willing to step off that high platform of life into the unknown? Will the sturdy cables be there when our own devices fail us?

There are many opportunities to put our trust to the acid test that day. Some climb and balance atop 30 foot poles on a 10 inch diameter platform. Adventurous ones scamper to the top and blast a victory yell before leaping forward with cable back-up. Others whimper "I can't do this" for 10 minutes before taking the daring plunge.

One big challenge remains - the ominous "Giant Swing". After much whining and procrastination, we swing out harnessed in pairs on a long cable. The starting 25 foot free fall takes our breath away as we zoom into a 190 degree arc 70 feet off the forest floor. I cannot see or hear. My mind cannot describe what I am experiencing. After three or four terrifying arcs, we wind down in obedience to the laws of entropy and dismount in fits of nervous laughter, clinging each other in disbelief. We did it!

I want to shout to the forest that I have just experienced aliveness, that my comrades willingly carried me about all day, that I was not kept in at recess, and that I could add "thrill" to my list of emotions. I have been born again ... and again.
Jean Hartley
Jean Hartley
Editor's Note: Reach Out would like to thank Jean Hartley for sharing her very inspirational story. Jean Hartley contracted polio in 1941 at the age of eight. Although she now relies on braces and a cane, her disability has hardly limited her life; she had twin boys, has traveled in over 30 countries (just completed her sixth trip to Africa) and works full time as an academic advisor for a missionary training program in Hawaii.