There’s something you may not know about me:  I have a few phobias.  Not many.  And a lot of people have them, so it’s no big deal really.  You just have to learn to cope.  Or I should say, navigate around  any phobias that get in the way.

   One of the most noisome of mine–but the least frequently encountered–is my fear of heights.  Acrophobia. 

   Not that I’m actually afraid of being up high; it’s just that when I’m near the edge of anything, I feel like I’m being drawn over the side.  Walking along the edge of a swimming pool, this isn’t such a bad thing.  But walking along a precipice that drops to a thousand feet below, it’s vitally critical.  On the scenic overlook  atop the Empire State Building, for example, I couldn’t begin to peel myself off the interior wall to approach the telescopes for a look-see! 

   A number of summers ago, I found myself  in the mountains northwest of Taos, New Mexico.  I had been on a short-term mission to participate in a maintenance project at McCurdy School when the team ventured north to explore the remains of an obscure cliff dwelling in a National Forest nearby.  Sounded like a great idea to me and I tramped through the woods anticipating a fun day exploring native American antiquities.

   It’s true that my excitement waned a bit at the sight of the first of two ladders leaning against a sheer rock wall. One at a time, I told myself, and placed one foot above the other until I reached the top.  It wasn’t easy turning loose and stepping out onto the dusty path that would take us around and up to a second ladder.   At no time–either while on the ladder or the path–did  I allow an eye to wander down or back.  I probably would have kept both glued shut had it been possible to keep my footing without knowing where I was putting my feet!

   I don’t know how I ever managed to climb that second ladder.  Probably because several team members were behind me and I couldn’t bear to let anyone see how terrified I was.  Up another twenty or so feet and we were all at the top and convinced that we had discovered something most of the world would never see.   An exhilarating experience!  I was so glad that I had made it with the team.

   Then it was time to return to the canyon floor way, way down below.  No problem.  I’d made it up, I could make it down. 

  But at the first step towards the ladder, my feet balked.  In front of me, there was nothing but air.  That ole familiar sensation grabbed at my gut and I had the momentary sensation of falling.  If I took another  step towards the edge of the cliff, I was sure that something would grab me and drag me over the edge.

   The guy behind me didn’t hesitate.  Leaning forward, he took hold of my left hand and placed it on the shoulder of the person in front; then the right.  His lips at ear-level calmly whispered:  “Keep your eyes on Jesus.”

   I made it to the bottom without a hitch.

   Some time later, I was to give my testimony before an audience of  several hundred.  Frozen in fear would be an understatement of what I was feeling at the moment.  As I climbed over those on the pew between me and the aisle, a friend reached for my hand.  I could feel a scrap of paper being stuffed into my palm.

   My shakey knees delivered me up the three steps to the podium.  But when  I looked out over the sea of faces up-turned to hear me speak, words wouldn’t come.  I looked down at the scrap of paper that’d been shoved into my palm.

   “Turn your eyes upon Jesus!”