Perfect Bound Softcover/Hardcover
Size: 5.5 x 8.5
ISBN: 0-595-16308-4 (softcover)
Includes dialog questions with each chapter to use with small groups.
“[Carl] is a master storyteller….”
“Carl is a man who hears what the Spirit is saying and places the poetry of that message for the reader to hear for himself”
|Unlike any other being, Man carries a deep yearning for something long lost. There is a passionate sense of adventure to discover what this is that was lost.
Several years ago I was skiing at Timberline Lodge near Portland. Looking for a major challenge, I turned to my wife.
“I want to ski the Glade Trail.”
Now Glade Trail is a six-mile narrow trail that runs from Timberline Lodge down the mountain to Government Camp, not packed, and unpredictable.
“Please don’t do it alone,” Sandy cautioned, “and I won’t go with you on it.”
I honored her request, and didn’t ski the trail–then.
Some time later as some friends visited us, we skied with them at the Lodge. I taunted my friend, “Let’s do the Glade Trail.”
“OK,” he replied, “Let’s do it!”
We started out after an aggressive day of skiing, at about four o’clock. I was already tired. Sandy and my friend’s wife would drive down, meeting us at the bottom in Government Camp. The weather was beautiful as we started, and the snow was untried and unproven powder. In the quiet loneliness of the pristine trail, we skied the run and felt the rhythm of the skis. Soon I was lost in the experience, somewhere off in hyperspace. Sometimes I would stop and catch my breath, admire the view, or simply rest. Shortly there was no returning from the hyperspace, only staying at an incredible peak experience and rhythm that only a skier would know.
Then it happened. Somewhere near the end of the run I hit a mogul wrong and found myself flying. Skis, poles, gloves, and Carl were all soaring different directions and it all landed in a jumbled heap in the soft snow. As my friend helped me up, I tested things and found the only damage was a turned ankle. Picking up the skis and poles, I limped the rest of the way down and out of the trail at Government Camp with my friend.
My wife saw me limping to the car and met me with open arms. She guided me to the car and then she quietly removed the boots before the ankles could swell in them. As she looked up at me, her eyes said it all.
“Why did you do it?”
I still had the wild look in my eyes, the swept–back hair, the wind–blown face. Sweat was pouring down my body, and I was shaking from the six–mile run.
“I felt the wind. I felt the wind. I want to do it again.”
As we move into our God-given visions, there is a Wind of the Holy Spirit that moves through our lives. We feel this and its peak experience, the exhilaration, adventure, romance, and the joy of entering with God into the creation of His Kingdom. It may be “powder snow”–never tried before and dangerous, but nothing else has any meaning in life. It’s radical. We never want to come down again!
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