God-Goggles

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of His glory He may grant you to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith--that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Ephesians 3:14-20

Me before the race.

I'd never pulled myself from a start gate until the moment I entered my first course inspection. There's something unnerving about propelling myself off a ledge toward a blind jump on a course I've never boarded before (can't imagine why...). I didn't expect it to go flawlessly, but I couldn't stop the imagined movie scene of instant perfection.

Perfection is a process. This race was the very first droplet.

I took first.

Sounds impressive, right? Friends have told me I don't have to give details, but I don't feel right just leaving it at that. It's important everyone know I took first because I was the only racer in my bracket. That means, as long as I finished, I would win. It's easier to see where God takes me when we know exactly where I first stood. In this case, alone with a promised win--skilled boarding or not.

I still ran the course three times with two other racers also in their own brackets. All three races, I took "third". I crashed twice.

Daylen was proud. I was discouraged, even though I still won in my bracket. Part of me expected God would imbed some miraculous ability to be the best. But the willing ant part of me knew He was still saying, "You're not the best, Nadine. I am."

When I hiked the hill after my last race, embarassed and hoping people didn't recognize the 26-year-old stranger who thought she could come and leave an impression, I was met with a strange form of encouragement. A stranger came up to me, smiling wider than a kid on her birthday, and asked, "Are you going to try to go to Nationals?"

I stood dumbfounded, unsure what to say. Did you even see me race?

Daylen came to the rescue. "That's the plan."

Four steps later, another stranger with the same question. This time I knew the answer. "That's the plan."

Inside the lodge, as we ate nachos and waited for the little snowflake medals, the mother of another competitor asked the same thing.

"That's the plan," I said again, filled with new hope. 

Not all was lost. In fact, nothing was lost but my pride. Nationals is still an option. God put me in my own bracket to keep me humble, to keep me small, and yet to keep me on track. 

He took me a step back and showed me the race from his eyes: Daylen fasted the entire day until I finished racing. I finished safely. Despite equipment malfunctions, the race wasn't cancelled. This was my first ever boardercross race. I was promised a win while receiving three practice races at the same time. We were obedient.

God's eyes are so much more interesting to look through than mine. They bring reminders and promises, encouragement and clarity. Redirection. Too bad I can't buy a God's-eye lens for my goggles.

Now we're home with a dinky medal hanging beneath our life verse:

"Glorify the Lord with me; Let us exalt His name together." - Psalm 34:3

Our next race is part of the Hole Shot Tour in Copper Mountain, Colorado. Two days of practice followed by two days of racing. I'm not nervous. I'm not doubtful. In fact, I'm fidgety with excitement. I can't wait to hit the slopes. 

This race is big. Our God is bigger. I'm trying to keep His goggles on.