Adapted from the Christian Science Sentinel, May 21, 2007.
February 1995. New Hampshire state championships, cross-country skiing.
After four miles of racing neck-and-neck through forested hills and wind-swept ravines, my rival and I entered the final homestretch. She sped ahead on the last turn. I faltered. And then it was over. Three irretrievable seconds would forever stand between me and the high-school title. I kneeled in the snow, hot tears flowing down my numb cheeks.
That was not the last, nor the hardest, disappointment of my ski career. Though I eventually became one of the top-ranked female skiers in the United States, there were many trials along the way. But they brought a sweet reward: I came to see better what Mary Baker Eddy must have meant by her words “O make me glad for every scalding tear” and “God is good, and loss is gain” (Christian Science Hymnal, No. 207).
It didn’t feel very sweet in January 2002, though, when I’d just finished the last Olympic selection race and knew I hadn’t made the cut to compete in the Salt Lake City Games the following month. I remember sitting in church that night, feeling exhausted after five years of full-time training—of full-time dreaming, sacrificing, persisting—for a goal that had just become an impossibility.
Even a couple of years later when I’d exchanged my skis for high heels and a city job, it was tempting to feel that my ski career had been a failure. But then an interesting thing happened. Amid the desks and swivel chairs of my office, I started to make out the familiar contours of a different kind of race.
No one was running around in lycra tights. But I felt pressure to succeed. There was fear of failure, or inadequacy. There were grueling days when my new pursuit seemed an impossible battle that I would never win. And there were days when I was too worn out to try to succeed. In a way, it was even harder, because the rules of the game weren’t clear cut. There wasn’t a start and a finish, a timer, a list of results. But once I realized these challenges, which were mental in nature, had followed me from the ski trails, I immediately started chipping away at them through prayer.
One of the most meaningful experiences came at a time when I felt paralyzed by the feeling that I was incapable of doing my job well. This was supported by, if not derived from, my perception that some colleagues viewed my job performance as less than adequate.
At the height of this situation, one weekend I was hit with excruciating menstrual cramps, which were quickly coupled with other, quite alarming symptoms. I called a Christian Science practitioner to pray with me, and he reminded me to recognize these symptoms as a lie about the nature of my spiritual being—perfect, whole, protected by God.
After several minutes, it hit me: A lie about my being, no matter how bad, could not actually change me. Even if some colleagues did think I was incapable of doing a good job, that could not change the fact that God had endowed me with infinite capabilities, which included intelligence, wisdom, grace, and poise. The Psalmist described so well this ability to reflect our Maker: “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well” (Ps. 139:14).
Instantly, I felt so much freer from the intense pressure I’d been dealing with at work. The pain and symptoms started to dissipate right away, too. I even did a vigorous ski workout with my brother later that morning.
When I got back to work, no one was acting differently. But I was different. I had a new way of knowing whether I was measuring up—by looking to God, and God alone, to determine that. So I felt unfazed. Interestingly, things improved dramatically after a couple of weeks.
That experience has proved to be a milestone on this new ski-course of life. The challenges have been no less Olympic than they were on the grueling hills of Utah, where I raced many times in preparation for the 2002 Games. But that’s been the most significant lesson for me: My Olympic dream was not shattered when I failed to make the team. Instead, that was just the beginning of a whole new, glorious phase.
Though I couldn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I was being given an opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of what really determines one’s worth and purpose—and the ability to fulfill that purpose. And what’s been so sweet is to realize that this opportunity is infinite, always unfolding—and never more so than when we find ourselves humbled (or even humiliated), hot tears of shame or disappointment running down our cheeks. |CSS
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I just loved this article! It’s very touching. I had been struggling with these same fears recently at work as well. Feelings of inadequacy, not being good enough, and it reminded me of when I used to play basketball at a highly competitive level. I had the same fears then - would I score enough points, would I be able to handle the ball correctly at key points in the came. At some point I think the fear overcame me and I failed not for lack of effort, but out of fear. This article has been a real revelation for me. Thankyou so much for writing it!