I had to stop by the market on the way home. I walked in and saw the choice that lay before me. To one side was a wall of wine bottles. To the other was the cookie aisle. Which would be my comfort? I went with the cookies. I grabbed a package of chocolate cream Oreos and checked out. I got to my car, started the engine and ripped open the package. With each bite on the drive home, tears rolled down my cheeks. What was it with me and skiing? I really tried to master this sport which seemed to come so easily to everyone but me.
Pity party anyone? This party was a doozy. Poor me. Poor pitiful me. Poor, poor, sad, pitiful me. I know there are starving children in Africa. But at this point, in this moment, I was all that mattered. Horrible, right? This truth made me feel even worse.
I got home, took a hot shower and went to bed. Rest was what I needed. A deep sleep enveloped me. Two hours later, I was stubbornly awakened by my cell phone ringing over and over again. Who was calling? Why did they need to talk to me so badly? Then I remembered where I was and that my husband and kids were still on that hateful mountain. In my groggy haze, I answered to hear Chris say my son, Jack, had broken his arm. This was unbelievable. If the mountain wants to take me out, fine. But now it was going after my boy.
When I got to him, my sweet Jack, was in terrible pain. The paramedics at the mountain were wonderful. They gave him an IV with some fluids and pain reliever. They ended up having to sedate him and reset his arm. He was so brave.
So what is the moral of this long, painful story? What is the spiritual lesson I always pull from my life experiences? I have to be honest here. I'm not sure yet. Sometimes you have to let a little time pass between you and the painful experience in order to see God in it. I've shared this story with a lot of humor in my voice. I think laughter is a great pain reliever.
I'm writing this morning from the comfort of a recliner in our house in Angel Fire. I've got a cup of hot coffee. I'm still in my pj's. I've got a heating pad on my backside and ice on my knee. My son is drugged up and feeling no pain. In other words, we're okay. We survived the mountain once again. As I sit from the safety of the indoors I can look out on the glorious beauty that is God's handiwork. I tip my hat to the mountain. I reaffirm my pact to never step foot, nor ski, on her again. So to all my crazy friends who find skiing enjoyable I say to you, "Go in good health." If you need me, I'll be in the lodge.
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