This Christmas, I’m doing something different. While most people will be waking up to gifts and breakfast with loved ones, I’ll be on the other side of the Big Island, stepping into a plane around 10am, preparing to skydive over Kona.
But this isn’t about chasing adrenaline or checking off a thrill-seeker’s bucket list.
This is about Jesus.
I live in Kalapana, in a peaceful beach house on the eastern edge of the island. On Christmas morning, I’ll drive across this sacred land, from east to west, from one side of the island to the other—symbolic in itself. And when I jump from that plane, it won’t just be a fall. It will be a tribute.
You see, Christ’s birth wasn’t just about a baby in a manger. It was the beginning of the greatest descent the world has ever known. Jesus came down from the highest place—the kingdom of heaven—into the chaos, imperfection, and pain of our world. And He didn’t come with a parachute. He came with purpose.
But on this symbolic dive, the plane represents the kingdom of God—the place He left. The sky is the great divide between heaven and earth. The parachute is the Holy Spirit, catching, guiding, and preserving the descent with grace. And when my feet touch the ground, that moment will symbolize Christ stepping onto the earth, fully God yet fully man, choosing to walk among us.
This act is not for show. It’s an expression of faith. A personal reflection of what Christmas really means to me: that Heaven didn’t just send a baby, it sent the King Himself—descending like light into darkness.
And yes, I expect my body will be full of “adrenaline burgers” (let’s be honest). But the core of it is spiritual. It’s worship. It’s alignment. It’s remembrance.
People often forget that during His life, Jesus went up a mountain and was transfigured—His divinity literally revealed in light. The sky opened. Moses and Elijah descended and spoke with Him. So even in His life and before His crucifixion, the vertical movement—between heaven and earth—was central. His story is one of descent and return, of love that came down to meet us.
So this year, instead of just singing about Christ’s coming, I’m going to feel it—in my bones, in the wind, in the sky above the island.
I know it may seem early to talk about Christmas, but I wanted to share this now—and I’ll definitely share some photos on Christmas evening.
Until then, may your own descent into the season be filled with grace, purpose, and perspective.
cassarly 