The written word can be so limiting. You simply need wild gestures and a passionately inflected voice to convey some things. But rich, deep, soul-nourishing experiences deserve to be communicated and shared. Even if their retelling stretches the writer’s skill with crafting words. And even if the real treasures of the matter lie wordlessly in the heart.
Holly’s big idea was that we should all go sledding. She had borrowed extra winter gear from a friend and convinced us all to pile on the layers for an afternoon excursion. It wasn’t until I stood at the top of the hill that a tiny panic alarm started beeping somewhere in my subconscious. I suddenly remembered that “redneck” joke where the punch line reads:
What’s a redneck’s last words?
“Hey y’all . . . wa-chis!”
Translation for my North Dakota friends:
“Attention everyone! Watch this foolish Tennessean do something really stupid!”
Several things about this venture were beginning to give me pause.
First, it was cold. Not the Tennessee kind of cold where you put on your hoodie because the temperatures might dip below freezing. It was a North Dakota cold. Where your own breath freezes on your eyelashes because the wind chill factor registers in negative double digits. If you can breathe at all.
Secondly, I wondered exactly how dense my 49-year-old bones really were. And how much opposing force could my joints and tendons actually tolerate? I was watching other people speed down the hill. The frequency of wipe-outs seemed pretty high.
Thirdly, I was wise enough to understand that what goes down must also come up. My fledgling experiences with walking on snow-covered ice nudged me to consider what challenge awaited me on the uphill trudge. Did I actually have the stamina for it?
True to form, however, Southern Pride won out over tenative musings. In the same spirit that adventurers traveled across these Great Plains many years ago on a quest for gold . . . “California or Bust” . . . I struck out on a quest for the prize of the greatest sled run ever . . . bust or not!
I will never forget that first race down the hill. The sheer panic, absolute abandon, and utter exhilaration will be frozen in my mind forever. My husband rode in the front and I was tucked in behind him. We had challenged Chad and Jamie to a race and our Reid competitive spirit had taken control of the moment. I reached behind the sled to give us an extra boost at the starting line. Then I heard the clear, familiar sound that pushed all fear aside and sent me shooting down the hillside with hoot-n-hollering southern joy. Holly . . . my dear North Dakota friend . . . was laughing.
We careened down the hill quite a few times that afternoon. Sometimes we managed to stay on the sled. A couple of times we graced the slope with our own version of tumbling acrobatics. But every run was absolutely joyous. All previous trepidation was gone. I didn’t break any bones or strain any muscles. Everyone had a blast. Holly’s big idea was a total success.
It started snowing again as my husband and I labored up the slope for the last time. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Evening was descending across the winter landscape and it was time to leave. I took a snapshot, in my heart, of the drifting flakes and the freezing wind. I listened to the sound of muffled footsteps as they sank into the deepening powder. I wanted to remember it all. The ice on David’s beard. Rachel’s red cheeks and dancing eyes. Mattie tucked snuggly inside her fur-lined hat. Jamie’s cheery chattering and Chad’s quiet grin.
And Holly laughing.
Such a treasure.
Could there ever be anything warmer than that?
Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid
Holly’s big idea was that we should all go sledding. She had borrowed extra winter gear from a friend and convinced us all to pile on the layers for an afternoon excursion. It wasn’t until I stood at the top of the hill that a tiny panic alarm started beeping somewhere in my subconscious. I suddenly remembered that “redneck” joke where the punch line reads:
What’s a redneck’s last words?
“Hey y’all . . . wa-chis!”
Translation for my North Dakota friends:
“Attention everyone! Watch this foolish Tennessean do something really stupid!”
Several things about this venture were beginning to give me pause.
First, it was cold. Not the Tennessee kind of cold where you put on your hoodie because the temperatures might dip below freezing. It was a North Dakota cold. Where your own breath freezes on your eyelashes because the wind chill factor registers in negative double digits. If you can breathe at all.
Secondly, I wondered exactly how dense my 49-year-old bones really were. And how much opposing force could my joints and tendons actually tolerate? I was watching other people speed down the hill. The frequency of wipe-outs seemed pretty high.
Thirdly, I was wise enough to understand that what goes down must also come up. My fledgling experiences with walking on snow-covered ice nudged me to consider what challenge awaited me on the uphill trudge. Did I actually have the stamina for it?
True to form, however, Southern Pride won out over tenative musings. In the same spirit that adventurers traveled across these Great Plains many years ago on a quest for gold . . . “California or Bust” . . . I struck out on a quest for the prize of the greatest sled run ever . . . bust or not!
I will never forget that first race down the hill. The sheer panic, absolute abandon, and utter exhilaration will be frozen in my mind forever. My husband rode in the front and I was tucked in behind him. We had challenged Chad and Jamie to a race and our Reid competitive spirit had taken control of the moment. I reached behind the sled to give us an extra boost at the starting line. Then I heard the clear, familiar sound that pushed all fear aside and sent me shooting down the hillside with hoot-n-hollering southern joy. Holly . . . my dear North Dakota friend . . . was laughing.
We careened down the hill quite a few times that afternoon. Sometimes we managed to stay on the sled. A couple of times we graced the slope with our own version of tumbling acrobatics. But every run was absolutely joyous. All previous trepidation was gone. I didn’t break any bones or strain any muscles. Everyone had a blast. Holly’s big idea was a total success.
It started snowing again as my husband and I labored up the slope for the last time. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Evening was descending across the winter landscape and it was time to leave. I took a snapshot, in my heart, of the drifting flakes and the freezing wind. I listened to the sound of muffled footsteps as they sank into the deepening powder. I wanted to remember it all. The ice on David’s beard. Rachel’s red cheeks and dancing eyes. Mattie tucked snuggly inside her fur-lined hat. Jamie’s cheery chattering and Chad’s quiet grin.
And Holly laughing.
Such a treasure.
Could there ever be anything warmer than that?
Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid
