Risk and Respect

At the last minute, I got my minimum number necessary (and then some!) to run a homeschool group to ski, and we dashed off with a couple of friends in tow to my favorite ski mountain. They were delightful kids, so respectful that they waited for me to return from filling my water bottle before diving ravenously into lunch during a ski break. After skiing for two hours, we were all starving. I had pulled their lunches out of the locker and then gone off for about ten minutes, during which time Asherel ran up to the cafeteria to buy a drink. When I returned, the lunches were untouched, the boys looking longingly at their meal. That simple act of consideration touched me deeply. It is those small acts of respect that divulge character.

As we ate lunch, I told them they should try the ski run on the far left of the mountain. It also goes to the peak, though is a slightly lower peak than the right side of the mountain. But far fewer people seem to go to that side and there was never a line for the chair lift. The three kids discussed that, and decided after lunch they would do so. They finished before I did and headed out. I never attempt to ski with Asherel and her friends. First, that is mortifying to a teenager, and second, they go about a thousand miles an hour faster than me.

When I came out, I put on my skis, and started off to my favorite run on the left side of the mountain. With horror, I saw that not only was the lift not running, but emergency personnel were lowering kids off of the ski chairs dangling in the air. They had a rope/pulley system and were going to each chair, one by one, rescuing kids.
"What happened?" I asked a somewhat distraught parent.
"The cable came off a wheel," she said.
"Is anyone hurt?"
"No, but they have to belay everyone off the lift. My kids are on there, freaking out." She held a phone in her hand, and I realized she was talking periodically with them.
Where was my kid!?

Before I had time to panic, I spotted Asherel and her friends a little ways off. Joe had needed to return to the locker, and they were only now getting on their skis. All the kids on the chair lift were safely lowered, and the lift fixed a short time later. I noticed few people were going on it, however. Nonetheless, I was glad I had been spared the heart stopping fear of a child in potential danger.

No, instead of the fear of them dangling on a stopped chair lift, they were able go to the top of a mountain and then hurtle down at some 30 mph or so on a thin stick, weaving among trees and other people on a controlled free-fall. Whew!
Funny sometimes the risks we accept contrasted with those we feel we could not bear.

Life is fraught with danger. It is all a calculated risk, every waking moment. To not take risk is to not live. Death is simultaneously the reason we avoid risk, and the only permanent antidote to risk taking.

Epaphroditus, a friend of Paul in the Bible was a risk taker. But the risks he took were in service to God. I am not sure what happened, but he almost died risking his life for others in the service of the Gospel.

I thought about risk, loving others, consideration and respect for others beyond ones' own needs as I skied down the hill. When I reached the bottom, I noticed the newly fixed chair lift was empty. No one else was braving it after the recent scare. I turned into the loading section, and settled down on the chair as it lifted high above the ground, thinking of the beauty that awaited me at the top.


Philippians 2:29-30 (NIV)
So then, welcome him in the Lord with great joy, and honor people like him, [30] because he almost died for the work of Christ. He risked his life to make up for the help you yourselves could not give me.







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