One Super Bowl Sunday…a long time ago
It was a fine day for skiing. High, flawlessly blue skies and no wind, with the temperature in the low twenties down in the valley and colder, no doubt, up on the mountain. The kind of day that comes around only a few times in any season.
So we didn’t want to miss out on skiing this day. But first there was Sunday school to get through.
I taught. My kids and their best friends listened and endured as I droned on about Abraham and how God had commanded him to sacrifice his son.
“What,” I’m sure they must have wondered, “was that all about?”
I did my best, which was probably not very good. And then it was ten o’clock and we went back to the house and changed. The skis were already on the roof rack. Boots and bags already loaded. Organizing four kids for a day of skiing can fall somewhere between chaos and mayhem on the disorder-meter but on this day, we were the picture of smooth efficiency. Less than an hour after leaving church, we were in the lift line.
