I saw grown women and men donned in neon “BLIND SKIER” vests. I saw a little girl with braids, my daughter’s age, wearing the same. They were better than me. More trusting than me. As I clutched my poles to ease the fear of steeper runs, blind people were tackling moguls. Seriously. It was good. For sure. But safe? Um, not really. We crave novels and plays and movies with drama. We yearn for a plot rich in meaning, for without tension, the story’s not worth our time. We reserve the right to close a book or walk out on a movie when we can bear the boring no more. But in real life, we hate it. We hate the drama twisting with unpredictability as it wrings our very hearts. We scorn the uncertainty of what we can not see, and we’re ashamed of what we can’t control.
“His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I can not.” Jeremiah 20:9
The Master Playwright, He woos the drama out of us, inviting us to paint stokes on His grand canvas like blind skiers adorn a fresh hill. He beckons forth the fire to match the scene playing out in our lives. Truth prevails in His Story, and He pulls the truth right out of our hearts — the painful truth burning like a fire within us.
As the winter dying is the unavoidable way to spring, our current mystery and pain will eventually join with now unseen paths. Meaning, understanding, clarity — they await our current trust, but maybe not until the other side of eternity. It might not be safe. And it will definitely not be boring. And on that run is our Master Guide, conquering the swift, the steep, the fear with us.