RISK

"Well think of the adventure," said Paul the other day in McDonald's. We meet up every month for a tea and a chat. He had been talking about risk.

I genuinely don't know how I feel about risk. To me it's like standing on the edge of the precipice - you'd have to be dead not to feel the adrenaline, the sense of adventure and the sheer thrill of it. Yet somehow, there's also a voice trying to tell you that this is madness and if you get it wrong you are going to feel it.

Or not - it'll all be over quite quickly, along with everything else.

But... what if it's the best thing you've ever done? What if you survive the jump and you emerge from the canyon with a smile so massive it can be seen from space? Surely the risk is worth it? Think of the tales you'll be able to tell - stories you just won't have if you don't jump.

You know that anxious feeling, that knot in your stomach at the top of the cliff, trying to work it all out? That's how I'm feeling... about everything.

"It's easy for you to say," I replied. Advice is almost always easier to give than it is to follow. Paul smiled.

People in my circles are often heard saying that faith is spelled R.I.S.K. - and I understand what they mean - it's just that I always want to point out that they are two different words, even if you think of them as synonyms. And of course it's not spelled that way!

To be honest though, I'm not even sure it stands up to scrutiny. Risk is a measure of all that you have to lose; faith is a measure of all that you have to gain. Those things are different aren't they? If what you have to gain exceeds what you have to lose, then the risk goes down.

In fact, risk is kind of subjective isn't it? If your experience or your preparation informs your decision, the actual risk will seem lower, or maybe higher - it's the unknowns that introduce risk, and there are more unknowns the less you know... um... obviously.

If you can understand the situation, reduce the unknowns and calculate the probabilities, the risk, the chance that you will lose, goes down - but to an observer it might seem like you've lost control of your senses.

That's why I climbed out on a fallen tree trunk over the lake the other day. I was delicately poised on the end, over deep, murky water wondering what would have happened if I'd toppled in. It was dangerous and it was brilliant.

But then, it's also why I'm standing on the edge of a much larger, scarier precipice, clinging on to the promise that God has given me a hope and a future and if I risk my world in faith, he'll catch me and it will all be alright - and probably quite the adventure.

And I do long for adventure.