Here I am at the top of the mountain about to tip myself off the edge.
You’d have to be insane to attempt what I’m about to do. But here we go. I’m steeling my nerves, pushing off with my ski poles, and facing my destiny. I may not come out of this alive, but I will come out a changed man.
Ok, the narration in my head is a bit out of hand. I’m not going to die… and I’m not even a man. I’m only 10 years old.
But let me start back at the beginning.
When I was kid, my parents made a point of scheduling a special outing with each one of us kids every year. This year, I’m ten, and I decide I want to go skiing with my dad.
I don’t remember how skiing came up as an option. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that my family is living in Rhode Island for a year and we might as well take advantage of all this snow. I’ve never been skiing before but it looks cool.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I watched some of the winter olympics less than a year ago. I watched those olympic skiers glide effortlessly down the slopes and thought, “how hard can it be?” Surely I’ll be a natural skier. I’ll wow my dad and everyone else as I glide effortlessly down every slope, maneuvering with grace, stopping with that cool *whoosh* with the skis to the side like the pros do.
I’m going to be really good at this… I can feel it.
Once we’re all geared up, my dad says we should start on the bunny slope so I can get a feel for the skis. I doubt I need that childish bunny slope but I decide to humor him.
It doesn’t take very long for me to start wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. To get to the top of the bunny slope, there’s a contraption called a rope tow. It’s very simple… in theory. There’s a rope attached to a motorized pulley. You hold your ski poles with one hand, grab the rope with the other, and let it pull you up the slope. It’s a great invention.
Problem is I can’t seem to make it work for me. I try to grab the rope and my gloves are slipping. I just can’t seem to get a grip. Other skiers start building up behind us, waiting to use the rope tow. I finally get a good hold on the rope and I’m headed up the slope, but then I realize that along with keeping my grip, I have to keep both of my skis pointed straight up the hill… at the same time. Trust me, it’s harder than it sounds.
I’m beginning to have some serious misgivings. If I can’t even make it up the hill without falling down, what’s going to happen when I actually start skiing?
After several unsuccessful attempts, I make it all the way up the slope and all the way back down again without falling down.
But now there’s another problem. I can’t stop.
The pros make it look so easy when they send sheets of snow flying as they flick their skis to the side. That’s not happening.
Instead, I have to try to master the beginner-level form of stopping, a tried-and-true technique called the snowplow. It’s where you point the front of your skis in and the back of your skis out. In theory, it makes you stop, or at the very least slow down.
I can’t seem to succeed in making it do either. Half of the time, when I try to stop, I end up face-first in the snow.
Also, I can’t really seem to steer.
I keep practicing and I don’t seem to be making much progress. We could spend all day on the bunny slope, but I’m not going to let that happen because I want to try out the chair lift.
So we abandon the bunny slope and ride the lift up the “real” slope.
And wow is this a big hill. Sure it’s wide open and the slope is gentle, but it’s a long way down and there are lots of trees off to the sides. There are a quite a few opportunities for trouble for a kid who can’t stop and can’t steer.
But there’s no turning back now. My dad snaps a picture to prove that I made it to the top then gives me a pep talk and I push off towards the bottom of the mountain.
I’m probably not going that fast, but my speed feels breathtaking. The snow is swishing under my skis, trees are hurtling past me, and I’m desperately trying to make the gentle turns I need to make to get down the hill in one piece.
I’m determined to have a good time, but I’m scared out of my mind. I’m battling with that fear when a phrase pops into my head.
“He knoweth the end of each path that I take”.
It’s a line from a song called “O Rejoice in the Lord” by Ron Hamilton.
I start to sing it to myself. More and more of the words come to mind and I sing it under my breath as I rush down the hill on my unsteady skis.
I feel a little silly even as I look down the slope and find comfort in the fact that God knows the way down the hill, even if I don’t. He knows what’s at the end and how to get there. He knows just how my skis are going to take me down that mountain and it’s really good to know that He knows.
It feels a little childish, but real faith feels that way sometimes. And again and again as I ski down the slope that day I sing those words over in my head.
“O rejoice in the Lord, He makes no mistake. He knoweth the end of each path that I take. For when I am tried and purified I shall come forth as gold.”
With God’s help, I might just be up for this skiing thing after all.
The prison is filthy, the stocks are uncomfortable, and the wounds on Paul and Silas’ backs throb with pain. It’s the middle of the night, but who can sleep in these conditions? The men begin to pray.
Then one of them begins to sing, quietly at first. It’s a hymn they both know by heart and soon, Paul and Silas are singing together. They sing louder and louder, and soon the sound of their singing fills, not only their cell, but the whole jail. Their spirits lift as they share this full-voiced praise to God. Suddenly, in the midst of their song, God sends an earthquake that shakes the jail and frees Paul and Silas from their cell. Before the night is over, God uses them to lead their jailer to Christ.
It all ends with joy and victory, but when Paul and Silas were at their lowest, it’s interesting, isn’t it, that their minds turned to song? The truths they sang served, not just an act of defiance against their pitiful state, but as a balm to their souls to help them endure that long, painful night.
When we’re in pain, when we’re fearful, when we’re discouraged, we usually find comfort, not in some new and exciting insight, but in well-known, familiar truths. It’s those familiar truths, repeated again and again that serve to comfort us in our suffering. Passages like Psalm 23 and verses like Isaiah 40:31 have brought comfort and strength to many believers when they needed it most.
Music has a special way of helping us repeat familiar truth to ourselves and to others. Songs like “It Is Well With My Soul” and “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” are reminders of well-known truths, but they’ve been a source of strength in the darkest days of many people’s lives.
In Colossians 3, Paul tells believers to use music to remind each other of the truth.
“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.” (Colossians 3:16)
I wonder if, when Paul wrote those words, he thought back to a dark jail cell in Philippi and the songs of praise he and Silas sang together.
It pays to fill our minds with songs that are filled with truth. Those songs can help us direct our faith to God when we’re scared or when trouble, or sorrow, or fear threaten to swallow us up. Whether what we’re facing is big or small, God’s truth is powerful enough and God’s mercy is tender enough to help us.
Don’t underestimate the power of a simple song.
Exempla 