"Restore unto me the joy of your salvation."
Psalm 51:12"
"Mind if I join you?"
The question came from the woman standing in the lift line next to me. The collar of her coat was pulled up tight against the cold and her goggles obscured much of her face. I glanced down at her, smiled, nodded, and we scooted forward in line. When our turn came, we plunked down in the chair and the lift swept us up the mountain. Within moments, the woman began to chatter away.
"Well," she said, "I really don't ski that much. My daughter--she's 26--she's the real skier in the family. Of course, she probably won't be doing much of it this year..."
The woman paused. Sensing that this was my cue to prod her along, I asked why.
"Well," she said, "She had climbing accident this summer. Terrible thing. She and some friends were taking the back route up Greys and Torrey's. A ledge snapped out from under her. She fell and broke her back..."
She paused again, giving me a moment to shake my head and cluck my tongue with the appropriate blend of shock and sympathy.
"But you know what?" She didn't pause this time--but leaned a little closer, letting me see the sparkle in her eyes as she spoke. "The doctors were able to perform some surgery--and they say she's going to be fine. In fact, she may very well be back on skis come March. Remarkable, isn't it?"
I've had a lot of ski lift conversations over the last few years--but there was something about this one that was different. I think it was the sense of urgency in the woman's voice, the impression she gave me that she just might burst if she didn't say something. She had some good news--and she just had to share.
The question came from the woman standing in the lift line next to me. The collar of her coat was pulled up tight against the cold and her goggles obscured much of her face. I glanced down at her, smiled, nodded, and we scooted forward in line. When our turn came, we plunked down in the chair and the lift swept us up the mountain. Within moments, the woman began to chatter away.
"Well," she said, "I really don't ski that much. My daughter--she's 26--she's the real skier in the family. Of course, she probably won't be doing much of it this year..."
The woman paused. Sensing that this was my cue to prod her along, I asked why.
"Well," she said, "She had climbing accident this summer. Terrible thing. She and some friends were taking the back route up Greys and Torrey's. A ledge snapped out from under her. She fell and broke her back..."
She paused again, giving me a moment to shake my head and cluck my tongue with the appropriate blend of shock and sympathy.
"But you know what?" She didn't pause this time--but leaned a little closer, letting me see the sparkle in her eyes as she spoke. "The doctors were able to perform some surgery--and they say she's going to be fine. In fact, she may very well be back on skis come March. Remarkable, isn't it?"
I've had a lot of ski lift conversations over the last few years--but there was something about this one that was different. I think it was the sense of urgency in the woman's voice, the impression she gave me that she just might burst if she didn't say something. She had some good news--and she just had to share.
Of course, I've got my own bit of good news. For starters, I believe that God so loves us--God so loves me, you, that woman on the ski lift and her daughter, too--that he paid the ultimate price (his own son!) so that we might enjoy a new life with him. It is good news. But even so, it didn't really cross my mind to grab that woman on the ski lift by the shoulders, to look her in the eye, and to declare to her the miracle that I have experienced. "Do you know about this Jesus? About the things that he did? ... Remarkable, isn't it?"
I suppose that if I had, I may very well have learned what it feels like to be stabbed by a ski pole. But even so, it bothers me that the thought never really occurred to me. It bothers me that I can't say with Paul (at least not often enough) that the love of Christ compels me to share the good news of Jesus (2 Cor. 5:14). It bothers me that, all too often, the good news seems to have been down graded to old news.
And so I lift a few words from King David for my prayer. Restore unto me the joy of your salvation. Remind me just how good the good news is.
