Learning to be a tool in God's hands

 

He joined us as we were nearing the end of the chairlift line. The “vista quad” lift at our local mountain has just opened and it’s a new experience taking the lift with four people instead of just two.

“Only the three of you?” he asked, nudging into line beside our little group. “Mind if I join?” 

“Sure!”

Curtis and Ibs and I shifted our skis on the snow, making room for him. He stepped up beside me and aligned his skis with ours as we prepared to edge out for the next chair. It swung securely around on the thick cable and we scooted in front of it, grasping ski poles in one hand and reaching for the slippery chair back with the other. Then in a moment we were off, swishing up silently high above the snow, gaining momentum and height, our skis dangling.

The young man at my side was tall and handsome. He could have been anyone, and we could have been anyone; but on the slopes there is always the common bond of being a skier. He turned and grinned at us.

“Where are you guys from?”

We told him.

“I’ve spent two years in Alaska,” he said, telling us bits about his life there and the amazing mountains. “And some time in Colorado, and Massachusetts, and now here. Guess you could say I’m a bit of a vagrant.” He chuckled.

His clean-cut appearance and respectful manner belied his light words, and his knowledgeable descriptions of the medical reasons why capsaicin works for keeping toes warm hinted at his education. He was clearly a person with an interesting story and intriguing potential in life. And yet.

I looked down at his skis, sitting comfortably on the footrest that comes much in handy on the long ride up. They were wide, shaped powder skis, a lot like mine. Black, like mine, with white accents to match. Only, unlike mine, on his was etched the drawing of a skull, one near each ski tip.

He was chatting about the state of the snow. “It’s going to get a lot better than this,” he said, sounding excited. 

I was still looking at his skis.

“There are a lot of people here today,” he went on, “which is typical for the weekend, but when they open more lifts, that’ll spread it around more…”

Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain, worthy is the King, Who conquered the grave…

I could hear it in my head.

This is amazing grace, this is unfailing love; that You would take my place, that You would bear my cross; You would lay down Your life, that I might be set free… Jesus, I sing for all that You’ve done for me.

Suddenly I felt a lump in my throat. How many hundreds of people am I around who have never even heard the Truth? How many times do I sit beside a lost soul who needs Christ, who needs to hear the life-changing News of our Saviour? 

Who is telling these people? 

The top of the mountain loomed and the unloading area approached. We lifted the restraining bar and kept the tips of our skis up, as the smooth snowy hill rose up underneath us. In a moment we stepped off and glided away as the chair swung behind us and began the return journey.

The young man smiled at us and offered one last bit of backcountry skiing advice before he turned and disappeared down Sherman’s Pass. He may never know that there is a King who has conquered the grave.

It’s not likely we will ever see that man again, but the brief encounter with him that day has left a lasting impression on me. (and no, it’s not because of his age :) I have been re-convicted of the needs all around me, encouraged to be a witness of the hope that is within me, and cognizant of our responsibility to pray for the lost.

You don’t have to be a missionary in some far-flung location to be a light for the Gospel, and you don’t have to be rich to be able to offer much-needed prayer support for those of us who are on the field. Whether you go or send, let’s be mindful of how God wants to use our lives in the furthering of His Kingdom.

Who breaks the power of sin and darkness, Whose love is mighty and so much stronger; the King of Glory, the King above all kings

Who shakes the whole earth with holy thunder, and leaves us breathless in awe and wonder, the King of Glory, the King above all kings…