“First time, Billy?” Uncle Pete asked.
I nodded affirmatively, my eyes ballooning toward the ground thirty stories below. “Get ready,” Uncle said. “Death Plunge is a feet numb, face red, gut-in-your-throat ride.”
I gripped and re-gripped the roll bar.
“Quit shaking. You aren’t afraid, are you?”
“Sort of,” I whimpered.
With a toothy grin, my uncle spun some country wisdom: “Fear is like oxygen. You have to breathe it deep before you blow it out.”
A tall crane, steel cables, a fourteen-passenger rocket sled, and me and Uncle Pete up front. The sled tethered haltingly up the vertical hoist into launch position. Below us, the lights of Pasadena City College glittered like fireflies. To the west, the valley stretched into a dusky lavender sunset. I clutched my shoulder harness and cinched it tighter.
Face down was no way to see my first carnival, but Uncle Pete had insisted. All my senses came alive hanging there. I forced myself to concentrate on anything but the “Plunge”: the aroma of cotton candy and buttery popcorn, the airy hiss of calliope music wafting through the makeshift park, a warm chocolate treat still lingering on my tongue. Even the clowns skipping through the park in puffy costumes with sparkling red noses couldn’t soothe the tension in every fiber of sinew twitching against the inevitable countdown.
“Heights bother you, Billy? Weather’s kicking up.” Uncle Pete’s thick reddish-brown hair matted in a gust of wind as I scooted closer to my Air Force hero. The cockpit clock blinked twenty seconds to launch, the sled lurching into vertical, nose down for the plunge. Gravity slapped us against the harness.
“Whoa,” I cried.
“Look at that view, kid,” Uncle crowed. “Ten seconds to launch. This is it, Billy. Put your arms out. More of a rush that way.”
I gasped for my last breath before the insanity. Five seconds to launch. A lump knotted in my throat, my mouth cotton-dry. Three, two, one…LAUNCH!
I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t think I blacked out. At least my world didn’t come to an abrupt end. Considering the fact that I actually grew up, I must have survived, but the rush and fear of that ride still lingers. The tension and wonder of it all is much like joining the Church. New members fear the unknown. The enormity of the decision may not be a Death Plunge, but the thrill-ride of new membership certainly causes angst. After all, the Church surroundings and vocabulary are new and unfamiliar. The convert’s circle of friends has just expanded by several million. Lifestyle changes can blow a stiff breeze, sometimes from the dizzying heights of new callings, new dress, unfamiliar service and time commitments which can test the mettle of even the most adventurous soul.
Nurturing new members with friendship, the “good word of God” (Moro. 6:4 ) and callings suited to their talents and the Lord’s needs are vital to retaining these precious converts (see Gordon B. Hinckley, “Converts and Young Men,” Ensign, May, 1997). So put your arm around them and show the way through your friendship and leadership, one step at a time. My Uncle Pete may have been right about the way to conquer fear, but breathing it in without a safety harness and a loving mentor is no way to experience the thrill of the ride!
