Category Archives: Life experiences

These include the good, the bad and the ugly.

Reasonableness

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My sister, Tina, recently read the story I added a few weeks ago about some of the adventures her and I shared when we were growing up.  And no, I don’t know how thrilled she was that “Orvan” got an honorable mention so I promise never to say his name again.  (orvan, orvan, orvan, orvan….ok, now I’m done).  However, just to show her that I am a good sport, she asked why I hadn’t told about the time that Grandpa rescued me on the tractor.  Well, Teen, humiliation might be the big reason.  Or maybe that the neighborhood party-line never saw a busier day (kids, we’ll have to explain that a party-line is where mutliple families shared the same phone line – archaic, I know but true).  So we’ll go back to that wintry day on Old Lowery Road which is where we grew up out in the boonies in Arkansas.

I may have mentioned that Grandpa and Grandma, who raised us, decided to move way out into the hills between Omaha and Lead Hill, Arkansas.  It was absolutely beautiful, but pretty remote.  If you read the sledding story in “Really?” you will know that there were some pretty wicked hills that made up Stonington Road which was paved at the time.  And if you can imagine that we lived on a bumpy old farm road that had creeks that you had to drive through (Big Cedar you don’t have anything on Old Lowery) and one lane bridges made up of railroad ties which got us across Brushy Creek.  It was also equally as trecherous in the winter time when it snowed.  Some of the hills you would creep all the way down to the bottom only to have to scale an equally steep hill on the other side, so trying to get out of there even in a 4-wheel drive took some skill.  Neither of which I had….4-wheel drive or skill at that point.

I was on the basketball team in high school and was so thankful to be on that team.  My husband, Steve, always kids me and says that it had to include 5 or 6 grades AND be co-ed or we wouldn’t have had enough players.  Almost, honey, but not quite.  I am thankful for having been on that team because it gave me something to be a part of, something to work hard at and strive to be better.  And no, I was not very good.  If I had gone to a bigger school with a larger selection of players, I probably wouldn’t have made the team.  But I didn’t know that at the time and took great pride in the fact that the team I was a part of did win our district tournament and went to the state competition a couple of times while I was a part of the team.  Again, not due to my efforts but a result of some truly talented girls who worked hard every day to be tremendous athletes and make their school and families proud.

I did hate to miss basketball practice.  It was more of a social event than me really being focused on improving my skill level.  And yes, I’m openly admitting that.  Not that I didn’t work hard and tried to contribute to the team, because I did.  You can just look back sometimes as an adult and realize that if you had given a little bit more, you could have accomplished so much more.  That’s how I feel about my basketball days.  So that brings us back to a cold, wintry day on Old Lowery Road.  It had snowed a week or so before and Grandpa had refused to try and make it to town because of the bad roads.  Good call, Gramps. We didn’t have a 4-wheel drive but Grandpa had truckfuls of skill so I was confident he could have made it out if he had been so inclined.  They knew the storm was coming and had stocked up on supplies so they wouldn’t have to go to town anytime soon.  I found out that although school was canceled, they were having an optional basketball practice.  And I was determined to go.

I must have moaned and whined and badgered my Grandfather until he finally determined that I wasn’t going to stop until I got to go.  We had two ways out of where we lived, Stonington – which is where the really big hills are that I wrote about in “Really?” and Old Lowery Road which had equally big hills but was all gravel.  Grandpa told me that I would never make it out on Stonington.  And that if he had to guess, what would happen was that I would try to get out on Old Lowery and would get stuck between the first two hills that I came to.  But, he wasn’t going to try and stop me anymore.  I drove a red, older model 2-wheel drive AMC Hornet and I loved that car.  I had purchased it from my great-grandmother for $800 and had paid for 100% of it myself.  I also paid for the insurance, tires, maintenance and anything else it needed.  I loaded something heavy in the back, concrete blocks I think, to help put some weight on the back end and down the driveway I went.  I can remember Grandpa’s parting words, “If you get to the bottom of the hill and can’t make it back up the other side, just honk your horn and I’ll come get  you.”  No way that was going to happen.

There was alot of snow on the road and I could hear it scraping underneath my car in some places.  I got to the top of the first big hill, about half a mile from our house, and creeped slowly down the curvy, steep incline.  When I got to the bottom and rounded the corner to go over the first of three old wooden bridges, I picked up speed so I would have enough momentum to get me up the next hill.  Yeah, right.  On my first try, I made it about a third of the way up the hill before I started spinning.  I carefully backed down and tried again, this time making it about half way up.  Did I mention old farm road on the side of a really big hill?  There was a drop-off on one side and a big ditch on the other so I didn’t have much wiggle room.  After about the 7th or 8th try, I realized I was never going to make it up that hill.  And as much as I hated to do it, I honked that stupid, pathetic sounding horn.  Then put my head on the steering wheel with my heart pounding and just waited for Grandpa to arrive.  I rehearsed what I would say to him when he got there.  “You were right about that hill, Grandpa.  I am so grateful that you thought to tell me about signaling you when I was unable to make it up.  Thank you for coming to get me.”  I kept practicing so the words would stop getting lodged in my throat every time I went to say them.

After about 20 minutes, I heard a low rumble and several voices.  I can remember thinking that it was a fine time for any of the neighbors to take a walk but figured they were probably just checking out the road conditions.  And I didn’t want them to see me.  Grandpa had placed a blanket in my car “just in case” so I pulled that over the top of me hoping that it would cover me up and nobody would see me.  As the rumbling and voices got closer, I peeked out a couple times to see what was going on and couldn’t believe my eyes when there was Grandpa on our farm tractor and no less than a dozen of our neighbors walking beside him.  What an incredible joke that they would all be out taking a walk just when Grandpa was coming to retrieve me.  And there was no way I could hide any longer.  I got out of my car and walked over to the tractor to thank my Grandpa and noticed that he was trying not to smile.  He was a man of few words so when I mumbled my thank-you and what a coincidence it was that all these people were taking a walk at the same time, he said “your grandmother called all the neighbors to come with me in case you needed more help getting back home.”  Are you kidding me!!! I wanted to dig a hole and crawl in.  Then he told me that he was going to push me back up the first hill I just came down with the tractor.  He didn’t want to leave my car there as they hadn’t come to plow the road yet (we were always the last one on the list) and didn’t want the county plow to hit my car.  So I heaved a big sigh and got back in my car gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.  NO way I was going to make eye contact with any of our neighbors.  As he slowly pushed me back up that stupid hill, they stood on the side of the road and clapped. And laughed.  And clapped!  And laughed! I was mortified.  Yes, we made it home safely and I can remember Grandpa not ever saying one “I told you so”, never scolding me, not one harsh word.  He knew it was important to me for me to at least try and was only focused on keeping me safe and providing me with an exit plan in case things didn’t work out.  And I can honestly say that I never second-guessed his wisdom on road conditions ever again.

I can only hope that God provides me with the same type of wisdom when dealing with similar situations with our own children.  I can’t promise that I’ll never say “I told you so” but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to give them the room to make their own decisions and will hopefully be there with my own tractor and a blanket as they try and scale their own snow-covered hills.  I love our children enough to allow them to learn some of life’s most important lessons in the ways that were most meaningful to me.  Even with the sound of that laughter, and clapping, echoing in my ears.

Really?

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My sister, Tina, and I have our share of stories that we have sat around and laughed about over the years.  I’m sure all siblings have similar experiences that they look back at after a period of time and go “really? I can’t believe we did that!”. I will probably need to get her blessing before posting some of these in the event she wants editing privileges.  (okay, did that and there were only a couple of tales she asked that I not include.  Like not mentioning Orvan.  Just ’cause I love ya Teena Beena.)

I’m going to try and group these into categories which may make it easier for me to remember them.  I need all the help I can get these days.  Here goes:

There’s no way I’d ever let my kids do that!  We were raised by our grandparents and spent most of our childhood years growing up in what most would refer to as “the boonies”.  We were fortunate to have some really great neighbors (in about a 2 mile radius) who had kids that we could “hang out” with.   Hanging out meant:  Take a .410 shotgun and run thru the woods with friends to go to the creek and shoot craw dads…..we might be gone for hours on end while exploring a waterfall behind our house while we would fashion “survival gear” just in case we “didn’t make it home” (which was too funny looking back because most times we couldn’t have been more than a few hundred yards from our house).  Survival equipment included hidden stashes of our favorite things protected in ziploc bags placed in strategic locations so nobody could find them, except for us, of course.  We also used to collect water in those same type of bags and tie a string around the top and secure it to a young tree that would bend and position it in the cold water of the creek because you never knew when you might want a cold drink of water.  Hmmm…..hide water in the creek….so it would be cold…..okay, so we were critical thinkers even back then.  (wow)

In the wintertime, we would go sledding for hours on end and for anybody who is familiar with the area just between Omaha and Lead Hill (Arkansas, that is) you might have heard of Scotts Mountain which features the most stunning overlook you have ever seen of the beautiful Ozark Mountains.  Somewhere back in there, the absolute best sledding hills ever created to entertain children and adults alike reside.  These hills are phenomenal and while sometimes we look back as adults and think “that’s way smaller than what I remember” I can honestly say that those hills are every bit as impressive today as I recall back then.  So big, in fact, that one of our neighbors had a 4-wheel drive truck and used to provide transportation back up the hills so we wouldn’t have to walk them.  We would sled all the way out to the main highway (about 3 miles of hills) and then sled all the way back in.  It was awesome!  Sometimes we would go down to our neighbors who had three boys and sled down the hill by their house.  That is not so remarkable until you consider the fact that we would go under their mobile home trying not to hit the bracing underneath…they must have thought that was safe, right?  And it must have been because not once did the residence shake or fall over on us as we zoomed underneath and occasionally hit the stack of blocks supporting it.  (By the way, not sure what we would have done without the neighbors we had.  And I mean that sincerely….our childhood would have looked much different without them. God must have known we needed some recklessness in our lives.  They were great!!  Did I mention that already?)

Horrible stuff I did to my sister included the normal sibling pestering (I was younger by a couple years).  Common phrases heard throughout our home was “she’s touching me, she’s staring at me, she’s mocking me, she’s using my stuff, she broke it, she cut all my doll’s hair off, she chewed my Barbie’s toes off (sorry, Teen – yikes!), she poured Kool-aid in my Barbie case” and more that I’m sure I’ve mentally blocked out.  Our grandmother would put me in Tina’s care and would hold her responsible for me (totally a bad idea).  When we lived in Lead Hill when we were very young (10 and 8 maybe) we would wander up the hill to Pruitt’s Grocery (loved that store!) to spend our money on candy.  Those are the days that you could turn bottles in for a rebate and while we did occasionally have money which normally totaled less than a dollar, we would also come up from behind the store only to grab a 6-pack of bottles which were laying out back circle right around to the front door, walk-in and exchange those bottles for more change to spend.  Grandma Pruitt never batted an eye.  She had to know that those bottles just came from behind her store yet each time she would hand us the change to spend on her candy.  One of those shameful walks down memory lane that you have as an adult.  You’d think she would have just asked us to save time and steal the candy but maybe it was more fun to see how many times we thought we were pulling one over on her.  Grandma Pruitt, you had the last laugh because we now know what our children are capable of.

On those trips up and down the hill to the store which included walking up the highway for a short time, I would sometimes ask Tina to give me more of her candy.  When she refused, I would tell her that I would sit in the middle of the highway until a car came by to hit me and it would be her fault if I got hurt.  And I’m also ashamed to say that I did that on several occasions (sit in the road, I mean) until Tina gave me some of her candy.  I had a real mean sweet tooth (and streak) back then.  I have no idea how she put up with me.  Maybe that explains why she locked me in her closet on occasion.

Then I pulled the most cunning (and disgusting) prank ever on her.  You know how when your sister’s friends come over to spend the night and you really want to hang out with them and you show off the entire time so they’ll think you’re cool?  In reality, you’re being the pesty little sister who won’t leave them alone but you don’t know that.  Anywho, Grandma had made a hamburger casserole, the one with hamburger, rice, cream of mushroom soup and the little crunchy oriental noodles on top.  It must have been a special occasion because we were allowed to set the card table up in our bedroom and eat.  After we first got our plates, Tina had to run back up the hallway to the kitchen to get something and I thought how funny it would be for me to chew up Tina’s casserole and put it back on her plate before she got back.  Yep, the friend was right there with me watching and thought I was the funniest thing ever.  Especially when Tina came back none the wiser and proceeded to clean her plate.  I don’t think I told her that for a few years and could still hear her friend’s hysterical laughter in my ears.  I had scored the ultimate joke on my sister….I’m still waiting for her to come clean and tell me what gross thing she did to me along the way to get me back for that.

Funny but weird stuff that we did and never failed to get a laugh (at least from each other) included wearing .45 records on our ears.  You know, the small vinyl records with big holes in the center?  We would poke our ears through the holes and talk funny while making crazy faces.  I’m digging through old photos to see if we ever took a picture of that.  And we wanted our ears pierced so bad when we were really small that some kids that our grandmother used to be the housekeeper/nanny for had these little dot wax earrings that you could get hot and then stick them on  your earlobe.  I can remember it hurting a little bit but really didn’t care ’cause they looked cool.

Imaginary things that we believed in were not your normal stuff.  Okay, so most kids have an imaginary friend, right?  Well, we had a chick called “Bad Debbie” who we used to blame for everything we did wrong.  Somebody broke one of our Grandmother’s favorite glasses?  Had to be Bad Debbie.  Somebody put a spoon in the garbage disposal to see what it would look like when it came out?  Bad Debbie did it.  Somebody lit fireworks off the front porch which left black stuff all over the concrete? Absolutely Bad Debbie.

There was also our nemesis, our arch rival of all time, who insisted on following us everytime we got in a car (or were stuck in the back of our camper when we were traveling).  His name was Meanie the Minnow.  (don’t ask, I have no idea)  He was always in the car behind us and it was our civic duty to shoot at him with our guns made out of our thumb and index finger to keep him from overtaking us.  We occasionally saw him at the store hiding in the next aisle but mostly he liked to chase us in vehicles.  I can remember that rush of adreneline I always felt when Tina announced he was following us.  I bet Tina could loudly annouce even today that “Meanie the Minnow is behind us!” and I would turn and look.  Old habits die hard.

Describing our childhood to our kids is about the strangest thing ever.  There is no way they can believe or comprehend how different it was for us than what they are living today.  Not only is the technology so different, but the economic conditions that we grew up under as well.  Looking back, we didn’t realize that at the time we were what many would consider poor.  Or at least a family with a below average income.  We now know that our grandparents moved us out to “the boonies” to somewhat shield us from a family situation that had taken place in our very young lives.  Living in the middle of town with easy access to highways was not a good option for us as kids.  You never knew who might show up unexpectedly.  We wanted to believe that it was “the adventure of a lifetime” moving so far back in the sticks.  I also now wonder if Grandpa ever shared with the neighbors what our exact situation was so they could help watch over us.  If that was the case, the neighbors did a very good job of accepting us into their families and watching out for us as if we were their own.  There was not a meal they would not share, a car ride into a ballgame that they wouldn’t offer, or a sympathetic shoulder they wouldn’t make available when we felt our grandparents just didn’t understand us.  The kind of relationships that you will remember for a lifetime.  God must have known we needed those too.

Layers

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Sometimes I wonder how God can remain patient with us.  Even knowing we are sin-ridden creatures, my own thought processes continue to disappoint me.  I had the great privilege of attending the James River Assembly’s Women’s Rally last Friday night and got to hear Nancy Alcorn once again deliver a message full of compassion and hope.  Every word moved me, every passionate plea that came out of Nancy’s mouth inspired my soul to broaden my perspective and not be that person that judges.  I turned to the scripture that she was highlighting as a part of her message and read it along with her.  Matthew 7:1-2     “Judge not, that you not be judged.  For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.”   Nancy went on to talk about the speck in our brother’s eye which we can’t even begin to help get out until we remove the plank in our own eye.   She makes you want to be a better person.  To really take a hard look at ourselves and see how we are filtering our own life before taking a poke at anybody else.

Then the most humbling thing happened.  One of those shameful moments that you almost hate to speak it out loud for fear of how others will view what you are sharing.  At the conclusion of Nancy’s message, she asked a friend of hers to come on stage and sing a song that she said was being released on an album she had recorded.  When the friend came on stage and started singing, I think I am safe in saying that not many in the room knew quite how to respond.  She was very tall and the music was not at all what I expected.  You could tell that she was trying so hard and was trying to appear comfortable as she paced back and forth on the stage delivering what was vocally a very good performance.  The only word I can think of to describe it, however, was awkward.  I didn’t know what to think.  Who was she, what was Nancy thinking to have her sing this song?  After being delivered to such great heights of introspection by Nancy herself, this felt like a very disappointing crescendo on what had been a truly remarkable evening.  As the song neared its conclusion (still beautifully sung) and Nancy joined her on stage, my mind still couldn’t help from questioning what the purpose of that had been.  Just a couple minutes later, Nancy stated that this girl (her name was Michelle, I think) had recently written a book about her life story and was connected to Nancy’s ministry, Mercy Ministries, somehow.  She said that ‘Michelle’ had more right to sing that song which was about being victorious than anybody she knew.  The moment those words came out of Nancy’s mouth, I immediately recognized my shameful error.  ‘Michelle’ had a beautiful voice and you could clearly tell that she took great joy in singing her praises to the Lord and claiming victory over whatever her past had held for her.  However, the only thing that I had focused on was how awkward it felt to see her up on that stage.  I simply wanted to cry.  Not five minutes before, I was “all in” to what Nancy was saying and even read the red text in my Bible clearly outlining Jesus’ own words about not judging people.   I wanted to go hide.

Needless to say, God got ahold of me and quietly spoke to my heart about his love for me and understanding our human (and sinful) need to distinguish our differences.  God also placed on my heart the idea that he sometimes “fixes” us just like you would a nail hole in sheet rock….one layer at a time.  First, he uses awareness to bring into the light the gaps that are present in our lives.  Like when he points out that I just formed an opinion about somebody before even looking into the circumstances that had created them.  Sometimes that is more gently done than others.  On Friday night, the awareness hit me so hard it made me feel ashamed and then I cried.  Yes, Lord, I heard you loud and clear.

Second, he then fills that hole with love and forgiveness.  He knows how our minds work and loves us anyway.  That has to be the most amazing thing in all of creation.  As I jump to conclusions, make hasty judgments and profile people, God gets in front of all that to let me know that doing that is not what he intends for me and I am to back up and take another look at those things using the Holy Spirit’s lense this time.  The change in perspective and the differences in how you feel will take your breath away.  The infrequent times I have been able to do this on my own are the most humbling and fulfilling experiences I have ever had.  Praise God for lending me the Holy Spirit.

Thirdly, he then covers the hole with compassion and acceptance.  How he is able to smooth over such raw emotion with feelings of mercy and tenderness never ceases to amaze me.  The peace that resides within my heart after he has touched it in this way is something I constantly crave.

Fourth, he then puts the finishing touches on the spiritual repair he just performed by refreshing my spirit with a soothing coat of “texture” which I know has been fashioned from love and grace.  I’m sure if you asked the girls who were at the Rally with me, none were aware all of this had taken place within me.  All of this happened in a flash and was over before I really even knew what had hit me.  And what I felt was thankful.  Thankful that God cares enough about me to keep it real with how I am viewing life.  Thankful that I was surrounded by great girlfriends who accept that it is not uncommon for all of that to be going on underneath the surface with me.

I can’t wait for the Designed For Life Women’s Conference taking place on September 27-29.  It’s going to be a fantastic event!

Whispers to my friend

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Pastor John Lindell of James River Assembly preached on the book of Galatians a few months ago.  It was the best and most enlightening explanation I have ever heard about the grace of God and just how much he loves us.  If you haven’t read that book or heard John preach it,  you should pick up a copy at the church.  It was literally life changing for me.  We listened intently every week about what God’s grace means in our lives and that living under the weight of condemnation is not what God wants for us. Feeling constantly condemned or convicted is Satan’s way of keeping us separated from God.  If we feel like we are constantly being judged and coming up short, who wants to volunteer for that?  Therefore we find reasons to not spend time in the presence of the Lord.  How very sad that we buy into this huge lie crafted by the enemy when the creator of our soul desires nothing more than to spend time with us.

This got me thinking about my “prayer life”. And the fact that I have thought many times about how lacking it was.  Then I wondered if this was just another lie planted by the enemy.  Maybe the whispered confidences and questions I am sharing with the Lord over the course of the day says more about the condition of my prayer life than what I really know.  When feeling anxious, I quietly ask God for perspective and to re-focus me on the things that are important.  When seeing something that saddens me, I tell him I can’t wait until he returns and takes all the hurt and sadness away.  When feeling angry, I ask him to please help me in seeing past the immediate circumstance into the heart of the person who is pushing my buttons.  And when I’m happy, I thank him for every single blessing in my life.  While those may not be the passionate, on my knees, tear-filled conversations that I sometimes have with God, I also know that those whispered comments and exchanges tie me every bit as close to him and keeps my heart connected in ways that I can’t even explain.

I see so many people around me who I think don’t know how to just talk to God.  There have been so many rules and guidelines placed on simply talking to our Heavenly Father that people hesitate to try just in case they get it wrong.  I like to believe that God is with us always and is interested in every last detail of our life.  I can feel him close throughout the day and, quite frankly, talk to him just like I would anybody else except with a whole lot more “Lord, please help me’s” thrown in there.  When I think about how our children save up all the happenings of the day to share over something like dinner and they recognize how deeply and unconditionally we love them, how much greater would God’s love and acceptance be for us as he eagerly waits for us to fill him in on our day and seek his opinions and advice.  And to think that he is “right there” just waiting for us to strike up a conversation with him it gives me goosebumps!  And the funny part is that I can hear him perfectly fine….even when he whispers back.  :^)

Perspective – what’s your vantage point?

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I heard the following story during a message delivered on a Sunday morning at James River Assembly by Dick Foth, a visiting Pastor from Timberline Church in Colorado and thought how appropriate it was for how we sometimes view life. Consider this:

“In a classic study, Medvec, Madey, and Gilovich coded the facial expressions of Olympic medalists. Not surprisingly, Gold medalists exhibited the most joy. However, Bronze medalists showed more positive emotional expressions than Silver medalists. Objectively, this doesn’t make sense because the Silver medalists had just outperformed the Bronze medalists. However, the reference point for Silver medalists was likely “If only I had just run a little faster, I could have won the gold medal!”. One can imagine that after years of training, missing on a chance to be considered the greatest in the world, an opportunity that might not present itself again, could be incredibly disheartening.

Bronze medalists were less likely to think about if they had been a little faster they would have won a silver medal. Instead, Bronze medalists appeared to focus on the fact that they could have easily slipped to fourth place, in which case they would have missed out on a medal. Instead, they won a bronze and they could find joy in the fact that they will always be recognized as an Olympic medalist.”

This reminded me of an adventure I participated in a few years ago while working for Carlson Managed Hotels. Annually, or sometimes more often, they took the General Managers and Directors of Sales on a management retreat and we were so fortunate to have been invited to Salt Lake City, Utah to take part in a 3-4 day meeting focusing on the upcoming Marketing Plan and Budget processes. I always looked forward to the meetings although it was very difficult to leave my family even if for a short time. During this trip, part of our agenda was to choose an extra-curricular activity that most appealed to us and the choices included shopping, snowmobiling, and bobsledding on the Olympic course in Park City. I originally chose shopping, low impact – high enjoyment factor in my book. And then Dru, my trusty sidekick at the hotel talked me into signing up for the bobsledding. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity! You gotta do it!” Famous words she still hasn’t lived down. So, an hour bus ride, one death-waiver later (yes, really), a helmet fitting and a meet and greet with our famous and former-Olympian designated driver and we were ready to roll (or as I affectionately put it – begin our 4G death-defying race down the course). I was partnered with two of the funnest girls I know who worked for our corporate office and other than never forgiving them for voting me to ride in the very back, we had a crazy-fun and weirdly-bonding experience as our little bobsled screamed down the ice. Or maybe that was me screaming, I forget.

I think our time was like 52 seconds or something and it was the closest I think I have ever come to feeling like I was actually going to die. How those athletes do that on a regular basis is beyond me. In fact, bobsledders are limited to how many times they can actually go down the course on any given day due to the toll it takes on their body. A little fact they felt compelled to share after my near-death experience. The picture they took of us as a group after we completed the course shows a glowing and widely-smiling group of girls (and one very rugged looking driver). You’d never guess that we were glowing because the tears of joy for having survived were still drying on our faces and the smiles were because we finally believed we might still live to see our families again. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. I also wish I could say that I ever regretted doing it. The truth is that while I’ll probably never do it again (no matter how much you make it sound like its way funner than shopping, Dru) I also don’t regret it at all. It was definitely a once in a lifetime experience and I bought myself the most expensive hooded sweatshirt they sold in the gift shop that proudly proclaimed I was on the Olympic Bobsled Team (in my dreams and never in a million years!)

I share all that to say that while we were in Park City, we also got to go take a gander at the high-jump ski slopes. We were dropped off at the top of the jump and were allowed to peer over the top of the initial launch deck where the skiers shove off to then literally fly down the hill, jet off of the ramp, do some crazy Ninja-maneuver mid-air and land on two 6-inch wide boards while singing “ta-da!” How does someone do that for the first time? I thought about how great it would feel to sit on my rear-end and skooch all the way down the ramp and then just jump off the end into a big fluffy snowbank and even that made my palms sweat. Yep, Ms. Adventure at your service.

Which really does bring me to my point. They did transport us to the bottom of the jump where the skiers actually land and we got to see the ramp from the bottom. I don’t know which angle made it appear more formidable. I do know that peering over the top of the launch site on the upper end was much more ominous than looking at it from below. Isn’t that how life is sometimes? Looking at a really hard situation from the top down is sometimes so overwhelming we never get the heart to actually take that first step to get past it. The instructors who were showing us around the Olympic course at Park City said that future skiers who don’t start at a very early age rarely get past the fear of letting go at the top of that very high jump. They have to start early in their lives, trust the instructors who convince them to “go tackle that hill” and then be fearless when pushing off for the very first time. And they claim that once you’ve done it, it gets easier and then you can’t imagine not making sure the next hill is even bigger. As Steve and I raise our three kids, we try very hard to “keep things real” with them so they are unknowingly prepared for the day when they have to tackle the really big hills. I know sometimes they tell us that we’re “too strict” “unfeeling” or “old fashioned” or my favorite “we enjoy dishing out the tough love” and I can remember saying some of those same things about my grandparents who raised me. I also know that today I am forever grateful for every hard lesson that they ever taught my sister and me. I was unknowingly being prepared for the biggest ramps life had to offer. And skooching down the hill was not part of the course. The lessons I have learned that have been the hardest and stuck the longest are the ones that began with an unplanned launch off the top of that ramp on skis that were the wrong size while not wearing a coat and no goggles coupled with a blizzard taking place at the same time.

Our perspective with how we approach life is critical to how we live it, appreciate it and yes, even end it. Being thankful (down to our soles) for every accomplishment, whether it’s a gold, silver or bronze experience is part of what we should strive for. Understanding that sometimes we have to take that leap of faith and conquer that biggest hill if we are to ever experience the greatest things in life. And it is very important that we sometimes look back up that slope and reflect on just how tough it was to come down that. We are made of sterner stuff than we sometimes realize. And our perspective is the foundation that all of our coping skills are based upon.