One snowy weekend, friends and I arranged to ski to a mountain cabin. We drove beyond the usual path until we found good snow and then began to ski cross-country to the cabin. The route turned out to be beautiful but difficult. Wearing heavy packs, we had to ski over steep hills through deep snow and dense stands of pine—and even ford a stream—all without a trail to make our way easier. It normally took us two hours to reach the cabin. This day it took us eight.
The next morning I needed to ski out alone and drive back to town to serve as one of the Readers for the Sunday service at my branch Church of Christ, Scientist. I knew I wouldn't make it on time if I skied out the way we had come in. I could ski part of the way on a path, but then I had to cut cross-country toward where I thought my car was parked. About halfway, the snow became crusty and slippery. I lost control of my skis and fell in a way that bent one leg unnaturally at the knee and caused a ripping sensation. Even though I could barely stand, I knew I had just enough time to reach the car before the service, so I began skiing again immediately, praying as I went.
Normally, when I hike or ski, I trust my companions' sense of direction because I've never found my own to be impressive. I knew I needed to trust God unreservedly to show me the way. God, infinite Mind, could never be lost or directionless, and I prayed to know that I am in truth a faithful reflection of that Mind. What gave me confidence was my certainty that I belonged in church that morning, to glorify God in my elected post.
