Sanctification on a Ski Slope
written by Kris Wilder, Ministry Assistant
A Lesson in Overload
“Bend your knees.”
“Weight on your shins.”
“To turn left, turn your right ski left.”
“To turn right, turn your left ski right.”
“And don’t forget to put all your weight on the ski you are turning.”
“Fall to the left or right, not forward or backward.”
“If you want to stop, make your skis a pizza!”
By the end of the lesson, not only was I overwhelmed by the trainer’s instructions—I was also hungry.
A group of teenagers and I had just spent 45 minutes learning 101 things to remember when sliding down a snowy mountain at breakneck speeds, and my brain was on overdrive. I could barely even walk in the skis, and now I had to focus on distributing weight to my shins?
Much to my relief, we were given the chance to practice on a slope with less decline than the average doorstop. Unfortunately, the gentleness of the hill was more than made up for by the steep incline of the learning curve set before me.
A False Sense of Confidence
“Bend knees.”
“Weight on shins.”
Surprisingly, I found myself regularly making it to the bottom of the training slope—and with relative ease! My confidence soared as I rode the conveyor belt back to the top of the “hill.”
That confidence didn’t last long.
I made the mistake of following the rest of the group over to the ski lift.
Our trainer wanted to ensure our safety by teaching us how to mount and dismount the lift properly. Oddly, he seemed far less concerned about the significantly more advanced slope we had to descend just to get there.
As I anxiously started down the hill, picking up speed, it felt as though every single instruction from the training session flooded my mind at once.
I tried to remember where each ski pointed, where my weight needed to be,
and—just in case—where the hospital was located.
Panic set in.
Moments later, the only lift I was concerned about was the one I was requesting from skiers passing my snow-covered body.
As I brushed off the snow and the embarrassment, I knew one thing for sure:
That feeling of lost control mixed with inevitable danger was not something I ever wanted to experience again.
Back to the Training Hill
I rode the ski lift, attempted an elementary trail, and fell nearly every time the path curved even slightly.
I tried to remember what I’d been taught, but my thoughts were clouded by a frustrated trainer, a group of teenagers moving on without me, and a random dad offering his own commentary.
I was frustrated.
The trainer was frustrated.
The teens skied ahead.
I was ready to quit.
So I did the unthinkable.
I went back to the training hill.
It was just me, the hill, and a few children who may or may not have still been in diapers (no exaggeration).
I knew I needed the basics.
For the next half hour, I focused on one thing: stopping.
I ignored everything else until stopping became second nature.
Then I moved on to turning—left and right—skiing back and forth across the hill until turning felt natural.
Before long, something remarkable happened.
I was turning properly, distributing my weight correctly,
and following everything the trainer taught—
without even thinking about it.
From Mechanics to Joy
By the end of the day, though far from an expert, I was skiing slopes I never would have believed possible earlier that morning.
Before, I was obsessed with mechanics.
Now, I was enjoying the ride.
Those same mechanics were still there—but they had become instinctive.
That day, I learned more than how to ski.
I learned something I desperately need to remember every day.
Overwhelmed by the Mechanics
Trying to remember everything my ski trainer taught me was overwhelming. But honestly, it doesn’t compare to how overwhelmed I often feel in my walk with God.
Paul captures this struggle perfectly in Romans 7:15:
“For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.”
The Christian life is a constant tension—desiring to live by the Spirit while being hindered by the flesh.
Instead of reminders like “bend knees” or “weight on shins,” the instructions sound more like:
- Bite your tongue
- Suppress anger
- Bounce your eyes
- Stop being anxious
- Be content
Whether through a sermon, a seminary project, or lesson preparation, I’m frequently reminded of how often I fail to do what I know I should.
And just like on the slopes,
that sense of lost control often leads me to panic—or quit.
Back to the Basics (Again)
Just as I left the training hill too soon, I often make the same mistake in my walk with Christ.
Failure humbles me—and drives me back to the basics.
A skier cannot succeed if he can’t stop or turn. In the same way, a Christian has no chance of success without consistent interaction with God through His Word and prayer.
Yet personal Scripture reading—one of the most basic disciplines—is often the most neglected.
Jesus Himself highlights its importance in John 17:
“Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth.”
It may feel like just another instruction from the trainer, but until this discipline becomes consistent, everything else falls apart.
Just as learning to stop empowered me to ski,
learning Scripture and prayer empowers a believer to live faithfully.
Spirit-Filled Success
After those first hours at the resort, I was ready to quit skiing forever.
There was too much to remember.
Too much embarrassment.
Too little hope.
Many believers feel the same way about Christianity.
But Paul offers a new perspective in Galatians 5:
“Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.”
When we walk by the Spirit—connected to God through His Word—we find ourselves naturally doing what once felt impossible.
“Bite your tongue.”
“Suppress anger.”
“Be content.”
Not because we finally mastered the rules,
but because Christ is at work in us.
It’s not me performing righteousness—it’s the One who already fulfilled the law on my behalf.
Enjoy the Ride
When I went skiing that day, I expected to learn how to descend a snowy hill.
Instead, God used a ski slope to remind me how sanctification works.
You may know that feeling of lost control—unsure which way to turn and afraid of what comes next.
Take it from someone who’s failed both on and off the slopes:
Get back to the basics.
Walk in the Spirit.
And enjoy the ride in a way you never thought possible.