Living Dangerously

A walk in the park with my husband is never just a walk in the park.

A firm believer in pushing one’s self to meet physical challenges and test personal limits, my husband’s life motto is, “Live dangerously.”  He claims a person isn’t truly living who hasn’t looked the fear of death squarely in the eye at least one time a year.  For the past twelve years, he’s organized a cross-country skiing and backpacking trip for a number of folks connected to our local church.  Roughly ten to fifteen souls follow my husband, skiing up a trail in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, carrying all of their food, equipment, and supplies on their backs.

After skiing uphill for the better part of the day, the crew spends the night in a hut maintained by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC).  Although there are bunk beds and cooking facilities at the hut, the creature comfort most noticeably absent is heat.  The first year my son went on the trip, his older sister told him to make sure he put his water bottle in the refrigerator at the hut overnight to keep it from freezing.

Through the years, the folks on the trip have had their share of adventures.  One year, my husband had to break out his first aid kit to make an emergency splint. . .

. . .for a ski pole.  Dubbed “Sister Catherine,” the pole survived the trip up and down the trail but, sadly, had to be laid to rest at the end of the expedition.

The next year, one participant wound up with a painful case of frostbite, having gotten snow down her boot while skiing up the trail.  Unable to ski the next day, she had to be pulled down the trail on a sled by an AMC staff member, thus earning my husband’s little adventure an entry in the annals of White Mountain search and rescue history.   

The girl’s father, also on the trip, later wrote a thank-you note to my husband which included these words:

Late Friday afternoon, on the brink of that precipice, with the wind howling, with some serious wind chill temperatures, bindings icing up, sun going down, daughter near total exhaustion, hypothermic symptoms beginning to appear, separated from our group. . . .There was definitely some spiritual groaning going on too deep for words.  But the Lord took care of us all and brought us safely home. . .

A few years ago there was some unpleasantness involving an encounter with a charging bull moose.  Surprised by my son, the moose reared onto his hind legs and soon had skiers diving for snow banks and hiding behind trees, whacking on them with ski poles to try to drive him away.  One skier landed face-down in the snow only to have the moose step over her, clipping the side of her head with one of his hoofs.  My husband’s advice to the skiers at the end of the trip was this:

Remember, as far as your mothers need to know—no one was ever at any time in any danger.

Year after year, folks sign up to go on these trips with my husband, looking forward with enthusiasm to the opportunity for adventure.  Most trips haven’t been nearly as eventful as those I’ve described above, however.  Well prepared and equipped, the skiers look forward to these outings as a time for camaraderie and fun and the opportunity to witness spectacular beauty—the reward they receive for taking the risk.

Despite the appeal of skiing uphill all day strapped to a backpack only to spend the night in an unheated hut, I’ve never participated in one of these adventures.  For some reason, I’ve always found that I was terribly, terribly busy on the weekends of the ski trips.

The truth is, I’m much happier staying home where I am warm and safe and dry, and where I can pretend that the world isn’t a dangerous place.  But daily living in a broken and fallen world provides its own opportunities for taking risks and daring to live dangerously.  Each day, I am confronted with choices either to play it safe or do the hard work of confronting challenges in areas such as:

•       Parenting
•       Loving others
•       Telling the truth
•       Revealing broken places in my life
•       Admitting wrong and asking for forgiveness
•      Trusting that God is at work in all things, even when life doesn’t make sense

Even the practice of sitting at my computer, typing out words, and referring to myself as a writer feels risky to me.  Most days I’m tempted to just back away from the keyboard and play it safe.  My instinct is for self-preservation and protection, guarding myself against vulnerability, exposure, criticism, conflict, and pain.

Though the process for me has often been exhausting and painful and slow, I’ve been rewarded by the privilege of witnessing moments of spectacular beauty after entering in and taking risks in these places.  After many sleepless nights, I’ve seen my children grow and wrestle with their faith, beginning to take their own tentative steps out into a dangerous world.  Offering moments of vulnerability and humility has led to sweet times of reconciliation and restoration in damaged relationships.  Telling stories and exposing broken places have been the means of helping other weary travelers find courage to persevere, to live dangerously in their journeys.  Daring to believe the gospel--that God is at work repairing, restoring, and making all things new— gives me freedom to glimpse spectacular beauty while wandering through this broken and dangerous world.  I'm slowly learning that the reward is worth the risk.

But I’m still not following my husband up that trail.

Linking with L. L. Barkat at On, In and Around Monday:

 

And daring to count the glimpses of beauty hidden amongst the danger:

815.  Lots of college students among the new members who joined the church.

816.  A word aptly spoken. . . Proverbs 25:11

817.  A prayerful young man.

818.  Blog friends becoming real friends.

819.  A clearing of the air.

820.  Being in on a surprise.

821.  Stories that spur memories.

822.  Another successful ski outing.

823.  Job interview for someone I love.

824.  My name from the palms of His hands, eternity will not erase.

825.  Son offering his gift in worship.

826.  Heron flying up my driveway and pausing for a moment in front of the window as I sat typing.