DOWN HOME: Sometimes fear can teach you a lesson

I defeated my fear of spiders years ago—in 1973, if memory serves me correctly. That was the second summer I worked for Clarence, a carpenter, friend and fellow member of our church.

Up in the far northern Texas Panhandle, most houses sit on pier-and-beam foundations. They rest about 18 inches above the ground on wooden frames that are mounted on concrete posts. As the weather changes, the ground under the houses shifts, and the houses get out of line.

So, Clarence and I spent a good bit of that summer crawling underneath people’s homes. I used a hydraulic jack to lift the beams, and Clarence tapped wooden shims in the space between the beams and the piers. Folks all over Perryton got level homes that summer.

And I got over my fear of spiders, who just love to crawl around under Panhandle houses.

What I am scared of is heights. Maybe Clarence and I should’ve built skyscrapers, and I could’ve scaled my fear of heights.

Turns out, I also must be a little bit scared of water. In mid-July, Joanna and I spent a long weekend at Lake Granbury with our girls and their guys—Lindsay and her husband, Aaron, and Molly and her boyfriend, David.

Now, I never really thought about being afraid of water, since we frolic at the beach almost every summer. But, apparently, I am.

On Saturday morning, David and I went out riding the jet skis. I was nervous. Not because I was scared of drowning, but because I didn’t really know how to operate a jet ski, and I was afraid of revealing all of my doofusness to the rising generation of young Texans.

Well, I got the thing started and eventually felt comfortable at the controls. Before long, I was tearing down the middle of the lake, the wind streaming through my … well … the wind streaming around my head.

For some reason, I decided to turn sharply to my left, and the jet ski sort of cut into the water, and I found myself leaning sharply into the wake, which now was on the side of my jet ski.

For a second, I experienced a clear and present fear: “You’re the King of Doofuses. You’re about to turn this jet ski over on top of yourself. And you might swallow so much water, you’ll drown with a life vest on. Doofus.”

So, I let off the gas.

Jet skis stop really, really fast when you let off the gas. And when you’re cutting a tight turn, the front stops immediately, and the back keeps on spinning, completing the circle. Water sprays all over you.

And then you thank God—from whom all blessings flow—for water and jet skis and speed and even that little twinge of fear that caused you to discover the thrill of cutting 360s in the middle of the lake. I may be a scaredy-cat doofus, but I’m a grateful scaredy-cat doofus.