I’m really not a fan of sports analogies. I’m not saying that in an attempt to be hip by not liking something that’s grossly overused. I believe I’ve already firmly established that I’m decidedly unhip. No, I’m not a fan of sports analogies because they’re horribly limited. A really good analogy works on multiple levels, that is, the most obvious parallel isn’t the only parallel. Calling the Christian faith a journey is an example of a good analogy. But sports analogies only work on the most superficial levels.
And so, having established that sports analogies are superficial and not to be taken any farther than the most mind-numbingly obvious level, I give you a list of things I’ve learned from snowboarding.
1. Fear distorts your perceptions.
On your first day snowboarding, they strap this board on your feet, help you stand up, and tell you to point yourself down what looks like a vertical drop. In actuality, the hill you’re on is like your basement: so close to level that you can only tell it’s not level by the fact that the water from the overflowing washer always seems to end up in a puddle in the corner on the opposite side of the room. Your gross exaggeration of the hill’s declination can be attributed to the fact that even level-headed people tend to freak out when heading into the unknown.
2. Most things worth doing are scary.
Once you get over the fact that the hill you’re standing on really isn’t as steep as you thought it was, you’ve stopped swearing profusely at that jerk of a friend who conned you into doing this horrible sport, and you actually point your board down the hill, you get to feel the absolute rush that is snowboarding. It doesn’t take a genius to see how this simple principle can apply to the rest of life. Which is good because I don’t have a genius on my payroll. Asking a girl out, sharing the gospel, interviewing for a job, and taking that first high speed turn on your motorcycle are all examples of things that are scary but worth doing.
3. Most things worth doing are painful.
What I didn’t tell you about that first day of snowboarding is the bit where you fall over and over and over and over again until you feel like a gang of street toughs beat you with icy baseball bats about the head, neck, and bum. You see, snowboarding is really a learn-by-falling sort of sport. Strapping a wooden plank to your feet and flinging yourself down a snow covered slope is not natural. You need to find your balance, and no one can tell you how to do that or do that for you. All those good things I listed under point 2 can, and probably will, be painful until you find your balance, as it were (except the motorcycle bit, one would hope you would avoid taking turns at high speeds until you know what you were doing).
4. Commitment is absolutely essential.
In the snowboard park on my local mountain, the typical jump is composed of an entry ramp followed by a five or so foot vertical drop to a flat stretch of snow about five to ten feet long which rolls into the exit ramp. You can’t see the drop or the flat bit when you’re speeding toward the jump. What you see is a huge, colossal, enormous, titanic vertical wall of snow that, for reasons unknown to you, you’re heading toward. At this point, with your heart trying to recreate a drum solo from a Metallica song, you have three options. Option one is to swerve sharply to the side, avoiding the jump altogether, and ensuring weeks of taunting by your friends. Option two is to slow abruptly and take the jump at a reasonable speed. This option is inevitably painful. If you don’t have enough momentum to clear the flat stretch before the exit ramp, you’ll land on that flat bit. If you’re lucky enough to land on your board, the five plus foot fall to a flat surface will merely hurt (and probably give you a nasty headache). If you don’t land on your board, you’ll probably end up with a nasty bruise or two. As sort of a consolation prize, you can then use that bruise to get sympathy from members of the opposite gender. Option three is simple: point your board straight down the hill, think happy thoughts about not dying, hit the ramp fast, and then proceed to fly. Life is full of things that people screw up by trying to do them half-way. You can’t be half a Christian. You can’t have half a marriage. Taking the conservative, distant approach will often end in far more pain than engaging fully.
And the grand final point is…
5. You can’t actually fly.
So you did it. You took that jump with enough speed to send you off terra firma and into the heavens. You’re an eagle, at least that’s what if feels like until you look down and see good old terra firma rushing up at you like some long lost friend come to give you a hug. The descent is natural. Gravity demands it. The biggest mistake people make here is trying to fight it, trying to stay airborne by swinging their arms and braking with their board. Sadly, air doesn’t respect the finely honed edges of a snowboard the way snow does. If you hit the ground that way, arms flapping like an epileptic chicken and board held 90 degrees to the hill, you’ll crash hard, probably flip a few times, and may or may know who you are when you finally slide to a stop. But if you point your board down the hill, not across it, and watch your landing, you’ll land smoothly and board away like you actually know what you’re doing. Life has its ups and downs. You can’t always have ups, not even if you bribe God. If you fight the downs, pretend they’re not there, then you’ll flip head over heals in the board park of life. But if you watch the downs coming and trust in the only One worth trusting, you’ll be all right. God never promised that you’d be perpetually happy, but he did promise that he won’t let anything hit you that you can’t handle.
And that, as they say, is that.
And so, having established that sports analogies are superficial and not to be taken any farther than the most mind-numbingly obvious level, I give you a list of things I’ve learned from snowboarding.
1. Fear distorts your perceptions.
On your first day snowboarding, they strap this board on your feet, help you stand up, and tell you to point yourself down what looks like a vertical drop. In actuality, the hill you’re on is like your basement: so close to level that you can only tell it’s not level by the fact that the water from the overflowing washer always seems to end up in a puddle in the corner on the opposite side of the room. Your gross exaggeration of the hill’s declination can be attributed to the fact that even level-headed people tend to freak out when heading into the unknown.
2. Most things worth doing are scary.
Once you get over the fact that the hill you’re standing on really isn’t as steep as you thought it was, you’ve stopped swearing profusely at that jerk of a friend who conned you into doing this horrible sport, and you actually point your board down the hill, you get to feel the absolute rush that is snowboarding. It doesn’t take a genius to see how this simple principle can apply to the rest of life. Which is good because I don’t have a genius on my payroll. Asking a girl out, sharing the gospel, interviewing for a job, and taking that first high speed turn on your motorcycle are all examples of things that are scary but worth doing.
3. Most things worth doing are painful.
What I didn’t tell you about that first day of snowboarding is the bit where you fall over and over and over and over again until you feel like a gang of street toughs beat you with icy baseball bats about the head, neck, and bum. You see, snowboarding is really a learn-by-falling sort of sport. Strapping a wooden plank to your feet and flinging yourself down a snow covered slope is not natural. You need to find your balance, and no one can tell you how to do that or do that for you. All those good things I listed under point 2 can, and probably will, be painful until you find your balance, as it were (except the motorcycle bit, one would hope you would avoid taking turns at high speeds until you know what you were doing).
4. Commitment is absolutely essential.
In the snowboard park on my local mountain, the typical jump is composed of an entry ramp followed by a five or so foot vertical drop to a flat stretch of snow about five to ten feet long which rolls into the exit ramp. You can’t see the drop or the flat bit when you’re speeding toward the jump. What you see is a huge, colossal, enormous, titanic vertical wall of snow that, for reasons unknown to you, you’re heading toward. At this point, with your heart trying to recreate a drum solo from a Metallica song, you have three options. Option one is to swerve sharply to the side, avoiding the jump altogether, and ensuring weeks of taunting by your friends. Option two is to slow abruptly and take the jump at a reasonable speed. This option is inevitably painful. If you don’t have enough momentum to clear the flat stretch before the exit ramp, you’ll land on that flat bit. If you’re lucky enough to land on your board, the five plus foot fall to a flat surface will merely hurt (and probably give you a nasty headache). If you don’t land on your board, you’ll probably end up with a nasty bruise or two. As sort of a consolation prize, you can then use that bruise to get sympathy from members of the opposite gender. Option three is simple: point your board straight down the hill, think happy thoughts about not dying, hit the ramp fast, and then proceed to fly. Life is full of things that people screw up by trying to do them half-way. You can’t be half a Christian. You can’t have half a marriage. Taking the conservative, distant approach will often end in far more pain than engaging fully.
And the grand final point is…
5. You can’t actually fly.
So you did it. You took that jump with enough speed to send you off terra firma and into the heavens. You’re an eagle, at least that’s what if feels like until you look down and see good old terra firma rushing up at you like some long lost friend come to give you a hug. The descent is natural. Gravity demands it. The biggest mistake people make here is trying to fight it, trying to stay airborne by swinging their arms and braking with their board. Sadly, air doesn’t respect the finely honed edges of a snowboard the way snow does. If you hit the ground that way, arms flapping like an epileptic chicken and board held 90 degrees to the hill, you’ll crash hard, probably flip a few times, and may or may know who you are when you finally slide to a stop. But if you point your board down the hill, not across it, and watch your landing, you’ll land smoothly and board away like you actually know what you’re doing. Life has its ups and downs. You can’t always have ups, not even if you bribe God. If you fight the downs, pretend they’re not there, then you’ll flip head over heals in the board park of life. But if you watch the downs coming and trust in the only One worth trusting, you’ll be all right. God never promised that you’d be perpetually happy, but he did promise that he won’t let anything hit you that you can’t handle.
And that, as they say, is that.
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