Living Dangerously

A few months ago our pastor did a sermon on living dangerously. He asked us to think of the most dangerous thing we had ever done. I thought back to my rock climbing and repelling adventures in the Tennessee mountains. I recalled mountain biking alone in the Colorado Rockies (that alone was dangerous and dumb) and coming upon a mountain lion perched above me in the woods. I remembered back to the time I went Piranha fishing with a fresh cow heart as bate in a rickety man-made canoe 20 feet long by 2 feet wide in a muddy river in the jungles of Venezuela. All true, and all dangerous.

But not nearly as dangerous as my upcoming adventure...

I'm flying alone with 3 kids under 5 from Seattle to Michigan via a layover in Denver. Dangerous.

What I wouldn't give to be 100 feet above the ground on a jagged mountainside with bleading hands. Just an elastic rope securing my fate.

Or eye to eye with the wild mountain lion, ready to pounce on me at any moment. Should I ride faster or slower?

What am I doing in this tipsy canoe in a river filled with Piranha and fresh cow blood? Would I really be eaten alive in seconds?

I can already envision it:
"Now boarding, families with young children. Crazy women flying alone with 3 kids under 5." "Your going to have to drink that baby formula so we can make sure it's not an explosive."
"Please remain in your seats until the captain has turned of the seatbelt light." "MOMMY, I have to go potty, now." "Mommy, can I have a snack." "Waaahhhh." "Are we there yet?" "Mckenna hit me." "Baileigh won't share."

"Excuse me, flight attendant?" "What do you have available in the cash bar?"