A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to go to girls' camp in northern Michigan.  


A few days in, Harvey came up.  Harvey and I were friends and I trusted him quite a bit.  I had heard stories about the wonderful structures Harvey had built over the years with both the Boy Scouts and the girls at girls camp.  It was a big hit every year and, never having experienced it (and being an engineer) I was pretty interested in what we would be building .


So when he came up to camp, I volunteered myself to be his right-hand person.  We recruited some girls, and set about lashing together a working ferris wheel.  Let me repeat that just in case you missed it: we were building a ferris wheel.  But we were not building one with bolts and nuts and things that you would associate with sturdiness.  We were lashing it together.  Wood and ropes.  And it was being put together by 13 year old girls.  


After a few hours of work, the girls finally had this ferris wheel built.  It looked like it belonged on the set of an Indiana Jones Movie.  Two side supports built of wood held a crossbar on which a 15-foot structure, also built of wood, rotated.  On each end of this structure was a very short swing.   The idea was that you put two people of more or less equal weight in the swings and let the thing spin.  If the weight was unbalanced, it shot the lighter person up 15 feet in the air really fast.  And yes, we learned this the hard way.


The girls LOVED it.  There was just the right mix of danger and novelty and soon we had a line of people that wanted to try out the ferris wheel.  Instead of trying to match the girls weight-wise, we made them find someone their own size that also wanted to ride the ferris wheel before they got in line.  Soon even the leaders were lining up to take a spin.  And I was blissfully directing this all with both feet firmly on the ground.


I have never been one for heights.  I hate them, in fact.  I am also very careful about the faith I put in any sort of man-made structure.  When I go over bridges, I hold my breath.  When I go through tunnels, I try really hard not to think about the metric tons of soil above me.  And when I fly, well...I actually took a class in grad school to help me better understand how an airplane works so I wouldn’t be so scared.  Instead, I learned all of the ways that an airplane can fail.  Let’s just say that they aren’t messing around when they de-ice planes.


But I digress.  At some point, a girl named Tara came up to the ferris wheel and wanted a ride but she didn’t have a partner.  Harvey, seeing that I was roughly the same size as Tara, said, “Dani, get on.”  “Are you nuts??” my brain was thinking, but with a little nudge from Harvey, I climbed into the swing, held on tight, and felt myself being lifted up over the cross bar and come safely down to earth.  I felt this sensation two or three times before I finally heard Harvey say, “Dani, open your eyes.”


So I did.  And I have always been thankful that I did, because if I hadn’t, I would have missed the most amazing view.  15 feet really does make a difference.  From the top of the ferris wheel, I could see the lake, and its colorful sailboats, and trees for miles and miles and miles.  From 15 feet in the air, I had a perspective of the camp that I couldn’t get from the ground.


When I was finally allowed off of the ferris wheel, I started to analyze (as I am apt to do) why I got on in the first place.  I hadn’t had time to stress test the wood.  I had seen the thing built before my very eyes by 13 year old girls.  I am terrified of heights.  Why the heck did I get on?


I got on because I trusted Harvey.  He had the plan.  He knew his plan would work and he knew how to direct imperfect people to build it, maybe not perfectly, but well enough to give people an unforgettable experience. 


I have been thinking about that experience a lot lately with respect to my life. Lots of times I miss the view because I’m not willing to even get in the ferris wheel.  Sometimes I pass up opportunities to gain perspective and experience, and even joy, because I don’t trust the man with the plan enough to follow the prompting.  And that’s sad. 


But what is even sadder is when I actually put forth the effort to listen to the prompting: “Dani, get on” or “Dani, quit your job and live off savings for awhile”, and then miss the view because my eyes are so tightly shut and I’m holding on for dear life to my way of thinking and doing things because I’m sure that the situation is unsafe.  


I need to learn that Heavenly Father has a plan.  And it will work.  And even when it isn’t executed quite to spec because of decisions I make, He’ll ensure that it will be safe and rewarding if I’ll do more than be an unwilling passenger and open my eyes.