Originally posted February 2011 Edited November 2019
“Let’s get going. Today we’ll be learning about fortitude; get your dictionaries out.”
“Sammy, please stop doodling. Pay attention. No, it’s not about making everything into the number four! No, F comes before G in the alphabet.”
“Mom, I have to go to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.”
“Didn’t you just go to the bathroom?”
“What are we having for lunch?”
“Robby’s staring at me. Make him stop staring at me.”
“Now that we’ve looked it up, let’s add it to the spelling list.”
I could sit my children down and tell them to set lofty goals, to try difficult things, to have courage in the face of adversity, but I don’t think they would get it like they did this past weekend. Words alone can be hollow. As a homeschool mom I’m wired to think in terms of lesson plans and instructions; however, the best lessons in life are often spontaneous.
In our family, packing is my job. I don’t love packing. (Since I’m reprinting this, I’ll mention this: Hang in there moms of young ones! Before you even know it, they will ALL be able to do their own laundry AND pack for themselves! GLORY!) Taking a family of eight on a two day ski trip . . . well, we might as well go to Europe for a month. Do the math. Eight people times two days of skiing in which we all wear multiple (at least three) layers, plus a change of clothes to wear into a restaurant after skiing, clothes to sleep in, and emergency clothes . . . if you have kids you understand about emergency clothes, and you get the picture. I usually begin any trip with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the exhaustion of getting everyone’s clothes clean on the same day, or Ken’s we have to make good time, and then there’s the great debate about who sits in which seat for which leg of the journey. Oh, rats, now Ken’s grumpy because we won’t make good time. We finally coerced Madeline to sit in the dreaded middle seat—I know; it’s not your fault you were born last—and we rolled down I-70 toward a fun filled weekend in the mountains. I would soon realize God had much more in store for us than just a fun-filled weekend. The chip on my shoulder would soon be cast off and replaced with a sense of awe.
Our family loves cross country skiing. We’re a family of runners and athletes, so when the roads are covered in ice, it’s the natural winter counterpart to a long run. At Snow Mountain Ranch in Winter Park there are trails for everyone: green, blue, black. Black! It’s not the same as a black at an alpine ski resort. Sure, nordic black means steep hills, too, but to get to go down, first you have to fight gravity (with skis on) and get yourself to the top.
Most families with young children would spend some time on the greens and blues. Not us. We bundled up (in our multiple layers) Friday morning, packed a ridiculous number of granola bars, and headed to the Blue Ridge Trail. 25km. 12.5km going up. up. up. FOREVER. We wondered whether Madeline, at the ripe old age of eight, would be able to keep up. We gave her a sound pep talk: “You can do this!” (We think.) It turns out she led the way for all but the last 2km on the ascent. I couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t keep up with her! She made the boys work to keep up with her. I learned (again) how capable my young people are. She was wearing thin about 2km from the summit; she wanted to give up and turn around. After all, the only other people we’d seen all day (three adults) were skiing down the mountain after giving up. They hadn’t made it to the summit; they all said it was too difficult.
She dug deep and kept going. (We’d attempted this trail last month, and only made it a third of the way up.) She wanted it! We all had to dig pretty deep. Four hours of skiing uphill will tire even a seasoned athlete. I can’t describe her joy when we reached the summit. In a world where kids are segregated into classrooms and activities by age it is something marvelous to see an eight-year-old soar beyond eight-year-old expectations! On the way down she said, “Now, Mom, I know I can do anything.” Yes!
The next day, Snow Mountain Ranch was hosting a cross country ski race for the blind. We mapped out our route; we’d be sharing part of the trail with the racers. I was nervous about it. I’m a realist. There are a lot of trails, why do we have to ski this one? What if we get in the way? What if we annoy the skiers? What if . . . . Thankfully, Ken isn’t a realist. We didn’t want to mess up the groomed trail so we skied off to the side of the groomed part. We’d been skiing for about 15 minutes when the first racers came up from behind. We all stopped and lined the trail.
The racers each had a guide skiing out in front of or beside them. “Straight, straight, straight, slight curve to the left, then it straightens out and dips down . . . spectators on the right.” As these amazing skiers raced by, I had tears brimming in my eyes. I had to work to take a breath; the racers literally took my breath away! It was amazing. Letting gravity have its way as the ski trail plummets downhill is trilling and frightening enough when you can see the bottom. Now close your eyes.
We were privileged to cheer on many skiers that morning. I’m so glad we took those trails. As the day wore on, the conversations I had with the kids were priceless.
“Mom, these people are amazing, aren’t they? They could just be sitting home, but they aren’t. They are out here.”
“Yes, Sammy, what you saw today was the human spirit at its best! But, you know what? There are a lot of people who can see and they just sit at home.”
“You’re right mom! I hadn’t ever thought of that.”
Conversations that touched on all kinds of things: How would you think about beauty if you couldn’t see? You wouldn’t be shackled by the culture’s ideas of beauty, would you? What is beauty? It certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with appearance. It would have a lot more to do with how a person made you feel when they were around. It would have more to do with sincerity and transparency.
My mom’s battle with cancer ended five years ago this weekend, February 4th, 2006. (Again, since I’m reprinting this, I’ll mention that now it’s been almost 14 years. How can that be? And this next part is still true …) I miss her every day. I am grateful for all the lessons she taught me. As I watched Madeline dig deep and muster all her courage to keep fighting gravity I was reminded of my mom’s fighting spirit. She didn’t necessarily fight gravity. She fought her own battles. One battle I am eternally grateful she never gave up fighting was her battle against the lure of Seagram’s 7. She made it to the summit too: she had more than 20 years of sobriety. I’m also grateful for the vision my mom gave me. Not a vision that comes from seeing with my eyes. She didn’t ever see people for their outer shell, she saw beyond all the trappings of her culture and her time and she passed that on to me in experiences and conversations and how she treated people.
for·ti·tude – mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously.
My children will have their own battles to fight. I pray with all my heart they choose their guides wisely, set their goals higher than anyone would ever expect, and then have us all stand back in amazement.