The Quiet Well - Blogs



Catch Me

This morning, I woke up with a thought resting gently on my heart.

My children play a game they call Catch Me. I’m not sure it exists as that name in other families, but that’s what they named it. One child stands in front of the other, back turned, and simply falls, trusting that the person behind them will catch them. The sheer amount of laughter garnered during this game tells me there is no fear attached.

I don't like this game. It is hard to watch; I hold my breath in the hope that we don’t end up in emergency care all in the name of fun. But they love it.

Even when they let each other fall almost to the ground before catching them, they still keep playing. And as they've grown older, I've noticed something: my eldest plays less. Maybe because life teaches us caution. Maybe because trust and playfulness slowly give way to realism. It could well be because teenagers are not easy to predict or because he’s having to do all the catching being so tall. The realisation of him no longer playing came to me only now – I hadn’t really given it much thought – simply grateful to reduce the risk of accidents.

And this morning, I wondered: when was the last time I played ‘Catch Me’ with God?

Not the careful, considered version of trust where I release a little and watch to see what happens before I release a little more. The real version. Back turned. Eyes forward. Falling.

Scripture says:

trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him.

Trusting with all your heart means letting go without turning around first. It means falling before the hand reaches you, knowing it will.

When was the last time I released myself fully, without checking first whether He would catch me?

I know this: in the seasons where I have truly let go, for example, when as a newly married wife, I got the medical diagnosis of endometriosis so severe that it threatened my ability to conceive, I simply handed all control over, and maybe because it was so big, I had no iota of worry – I simply relaxed into His will.

And God most certainly caught me

I could not have planned my way to where I am. The diagnosis said one thing. God said another. And because the thing was so much larger than my ability to manage it, I simply let go. Not heroically. Just necessarily.

And He caught me. 

And carried me. 

And gave me three children I was told I might never have.

So when I ask myself when was the last time I truly played Catch Me with God, I already know the answer. I know what it felt like. I know what it cost to fall. And I know what it means to be caught by hands that do not miss.

The question is whether I am willing to fall again. Perhaps that is what trust without fear looks like in a body. Not courage summoned. Just hands that opened because they had to. And a God who was already there.