Lately I’ve been thinking about risk. Taking risks, and the risk of not taking them.
Before Cliff, was a suitor with the perfect resume, a stellar job and a future of comfort and luxury. My parents adored him. He seemed the perfect choice. But he feigned a love for missions that did not exist. I returned his last gift. We parted.
Cliff was a risk. He was post-transplant, mid-way a fresh liver crisis, the perfect storm.
Drop him, people said. He’s “high risk.”
Risk is subjective. To measure risk is an act of risk itself.
Years later, I’m grateful I chose the “high-risk” option, a man who would risk his own life for the cost of discipleship. Because God doesn’t do risk. He does trust and obedience.
I’m learning not to waste time measuring risk, but just to trust and obey.
