There always seemed to be something both clandestine and bonding in the moments we spent adventuring on the housetops and garage roofs of Stearns Street. Our garage, detached from the main house, was perfect for wiling away an afternoon or evening. Separate – but still close enough to home to feel safe. We each had stories, and a number of us carried casts, scabs or scars, of time spent scurrying up walls to new heights, new hangouts, forbidden rooftops that seemed to cry out to be conquered.
When people ask me about the history of the Central Community’s Free Thanksgiving Dinner for the community, it’s our garage roof, view of El Dorado park, little kid legs hanging above the 8 foot drop – looks bigger as a number than a word – where my mind drifts off to.
There’s just something about jumping into that uncertain moment… something inspirational and frightening and so incredibly alive.
Incredibly Alive.
Even still, the day before Thanksgiving- after sharing in 25 of these dinners –knowing we have the best leadership anywhere, the most experienced workers for this moment (not too many places to gain this type of experience), I still feel like that little boy on the edge of the roof – legs dangling – not yet willing to stand and fly like the older kids – but desperately needing to jump… it’s the only way home.
Growing up we chased down the bridges in our area worthy of jumping. Loyne’s Drive was almost too easy but nearby for after school. The oilfield bridge over the San Gabriel River, especially if you climbed the peaks was a year round rush- well hidden –and water always 80 degrees with a safe sandy bottom. Naples Island bridges were ok for summertime fun. Appian Way offered its own excitement… (getting caught!) and 2nd Street Bridge… well 2nd Street Bridge was the stuff of stories… not all of them good.
Vacationing, if we were near a river with a bluff, I made a point of standing on the edge of a cliff as an adult… getting that childhood fear in the pit of my stomach again…and pushing myself out into space. I’ve made a few seriously stupid jumps… the kind where the locals are wearing tennis shoes to protect their feet from bruising when they hit the water or the bottom…
I don’t advise it.
Closed out a fantastic family vacation, a couple of decades ago, teaching them all how to jump off a cliff- it’s on video somewhere –a little cliff north of Yosemite, next to a waterfall and into a pond filled with trout. We spent an afternoon of jumping, swimming under the falls and watching some of our best friends kids hook their first trout. Fish just begging to be caught…think it was the last time I jumped… unless airplanes count… and in retrospect, I’m not sure they do… that first breath as you freefall away from the plane reminds you that so very much more than a visit to the emergency room is at risk. But I love to jump.
Thanksgiving at Central Community may have began like a bunch of neighborhood kids jumping off the garage roof together but today, 25 years later, it’s more like one of those amazing synchronized skydives with hundreds of jumpers involved, each one depending on the other to play their part with courage, to be there when necessary, to jump at just the right moment. This has so very little to do with any ONE of us and so much to do with the thousands who are waiting for a safe delivery of Thanksgiving to their doorstep.
Life quickly- in retrospect anyway –loses so much of the simple excitement of running with the kids in the neighborhood, climbing the forbidden roof, hanging out together and finally… jumping. It doesn’t have to… sadly we buy into, or create a self-centered reality that pushes all real risk and intimacy as far from us as possible.
I remember the shared smiles on our faces, the thrill of pushing off, the knowledge that I belonged with those crazy enough, or brave enough, to jump. Getting ready to go there again.
Left the church not too many hours ago, headed back out to the edge with full knowledge that this Thanksgiving sermon- the feeding of the thousands – may be our biggest leap and lesson of the year. I’m so incredibly excited… and just a little nervous. God’s given me the opportunity to be surrounded by a collection of people who believe that by cooking a turkey, peeling potatoes, donating a pie, delivering a dinner, taking a few moments with someone who’s all alone at Thanksgiving – really simple acts of humanity – we can make a difference.
Every group of kids on a ledge invites anyone crazy enough to climb up and join them. We’re climbing today. Tomorrow we jump. You’re Invited!