Have you ever had to paint a second or third story of a house? You get about halfway up that double or triple extension ladder and it begins to bend and bounce with your every movement. Then you start wondering about the ladder and its footing and where you will end up when it crashes to the earth so far below you. So, in fear and terror, you stop where you are and cling to the ladder, looking neither up nor down.

Eventually you realize that you must paint the house and that you can’t reach it from where you are. So, mustering up all your courage and recalling that you have never seen such a ladder fall over, you conquer the next rung and inch your way to the next, then the next. Finally you reach the top of the ladder and cling to it for your life. Now that you’ve arrived, you ask yourself how you can take one hand off the ladder to use the paintbrush and not plummet to the earth below. But you do. You begin. After a bit of scraping, the wood soaks up the paint. You whistle and admire the fine job you are doing. Soon the terror is forgotten.

You’ve learned an important lesson of life from this. No matter what high responsibility you take on, it’s scary, very scary—until you start working. The same is true of witnessing.