Learning to Ski & Trust

I’m still laughing over the drama that unfolded this weekend, and wanted to get every detail recorded so I can look back in ten years and laugh some more.  It all started beautifully….a weekend of skiing in Steamboat Springs.  Saturday was sunny and warm.  The boys were full of energy and tackled skiing like pros.  We whooped and hollered as we skied down the rolling greens off of Sunshine Express.  We told jokes on the ski lift while I doled out snacks to my ever-hungry boys.  It was the perfect day, and I basked not only in the sunshine, but also in the reality that our children were enjoying an activity that my husband and I love—skiing!

Sunday unfolded a little differently.  Snow was moving in, so it was cloudy and cold.  Everyone but John was energetic out of the gates.  (He had taken a bad fall the day before and had let fear take hold.)  John was skiing so slowly that we separated into two groups.  Darin prodded John along while I kept up with the die-hards (Jacob and Kenny).  We skied a couple of runs when Kenny started complaining about being cold.  I encouraged him to wiggle his fingers and toes, even turning the reminder into a little rap.  The complaining only grew with intensity while I was frantically searching for the other half of our party.  Dead cell phones meant that we were thrust back into the dark ages of meeting times and posting notes on dry erase boards. 

Kenny “hitting the wall” prompted a new plan.  We sat on a bench in the snow and cold at the top of the lift waiting for Darin and John to appear.  We gave up after twenty minutes and started the descent down the mountain to the gondola, which would provide us a warm ride to the base.  The trek to the gondola included three more ski runs and two rides on chair lifts.  Kenny cried the entire way.  Jacob was stoic until the last chair lift ride when he completely lost it.  All the while I was feeding them snacks, speaking words of encouragement, singing songs, laughing…..

We made it to the gondola in one piece, though emptied of tears.  The last fifty yards were questionable, as Kenny dropped his skies and couldn’t pull himself together for the final stretch.  An angel in the form of a sombrero-wearing mountain photographer scooped up the skies with a smile and got us on the gondola.  As our car floated down the mountain threw the blizzard, we all started to decompress.  The panicked crying of my boys turned to finger sucking (Jacob) and wimpers over cold fingers (Kenny).  And my mind relaxed and pondered our adventure.  

I had pushed my boys to their breaking point.  They were faced with a challenge, and they had everything needed to overcome that challenge.  I was with them every moment, showing them the way, cheering them on, and giving them snacks!  They persevered and made it through, but it was painful trial rather than a fun adventure because they didn’t fully trust in their mama who loved them.  

This made me ponder how I approach each challenge God sends my way.  He always provides me with the things I need to overcome the challenge, yet sometimes I let doubt and fear steal my joy and perspective.  I become bogged down in the less-than-ideal conditions, and in the lack of visibility to see where I’m going.  Even though, all the while, God is the good parent who is leading the way through the storm and whispering His love for me.  It’s in these hard times that true growth occurs; when strength and wisdom are increased.  I believe that….now if I could just convince my boys before our next challenging ski day!?