“Courage is being scared to death—but saddling up anyway.” —John Wayne

Several years ago, Connie, Carissa, Brandon and I went skiing in Colorado with several families from our community. No one in our family had ever skied before, but from the first day, we had a blast! At the end of the second day, I was taking one last trip down the mountain. I hit a patch of ice and took a tumble, and a stump arrested my fall. My chest hit it at full speed! It knocked the breath out of me, and I was pretty shaken. In only a few seconds, the pain was so bad that I thought they’d have to call for a helicopter rescue. I gasped for breath, and my chest felt like every rib was broken. I thought, If I live through this, it’ll be great. And if I’m able to walk again, it will be a miracle! I was as scared as hurt. After about 15 minutes, I was able to move a little bit. I was bleeding and bruised, but not on the verge of seeing my Maker like I’d feared. That was it for me. No more skiing that year.

The next winter, the same crowd of friends planned a trip to go skiing again. The memory of my last run the previous year haunted me, but I didn’t say a word. Connie and the kids had had a wonderful time the year before, and all summer and fall we talked about making an annual trek to the mountains to ski. This was the first thing our family had been excited about doing together, and I didn’t want to mess it up. By the time we got to Colorado, though, I was having panic attacks: rapid, shallow breathing, sleeplessness, nausea, and sheer terror at the thought of getting hurt again. My insides were in a knot, but I didn’t want to tell anybody because I was ashamed.

I desperately wanted to have fun with my family and friends, and in that moment of need, I told my friend George about my fears. He didn’t laugh at me, and he didn’t tell me I was stupid. He just listened, and then he said, “Hey, why don’t you and I ski together?” It was one of the most gracious things anybody has ever done for me.

My anxiety, though, didn’t disappear in that moment. It was too deep to be washed away by a kind word from a friend. As George went down the mountain with me, I fell over and over again because I was so tense. (Sounds like fun, huh?) After a few minutes, George came to my rescue. He gave me a new perspective about what I was trying to do. He said, “Instead of just pointing your skis downhill, pick a point across the slope, ski to it, and then pick another point back across the slope. Manage the mountain from one point to another.”

The combination of George’s kindness and his lesson on a new strategy made a world of difference. By the time I got to the bottom of the slope, I had renewed hope that I could enjoy skiing with my family for years to come. What a relief! And that was just the first run of the day. George hung out with me the rest of the day, and he showed me more techniques and helped me understand more of the art of skiing. By the end of the day, my confidence had soared!

The last three years, our family has gone skiing each year, and we’ve had some of the best times of our lives. Today, I look back on that moment when I first talked to George about my fears, and I’m so thankful for his friendship, encouragement, and instruction.

My experience skiing parallels how a lot of people think and feel about managing money. They may not throw up and have panic attacks, but they feel overwhelmed and paralyzed by the fear that they’ll make a mistake. All of us need to be honest with a friend who can step into our lives and give us some encouragement and direction. We may not be able to figure it all out on our own, but we don’t have to. A friend can help us take the first step, and when we see success, we’ll be able to take another and another. Soon, we’re connecting our resources to what matters most, and we’re skiing down the proverbial black slope in our finances.

Tipping points are moments of choice. In those moments, we can stay stuck in neutral, or we can make courageous decisions—however much we hesitate in making them—to take a step in a new direction.

Tipping points are choices, and one of the most powerful choices we can make is to be thankful. Some might read the last sentence and wonder, I thought thankfulness was a response. How is it a choice? Good question. I believe it’s both a response and a choice. Certainly, when our hearts feel grateful, our mouths find a way to express our thanks. But I know people who exhibit tenacious thankfulness, even through some of the most difficult circumstances I can imagine. I’m not talking about a foolish, Pollyanna attitude that can’t see reality. No, I’m talking about the ability to push past the obvious to see the hidden, to trust that God is at work to accomplish his purposes even when we can’t see his hand at work.

I know people who are painfully honest about the disappointments and setbacks they experience, but who cling to a steadfast belief that a good and sovereign God rules the universe, and he is actively involved in every detail of their lives. They aren’t limited to thanking God for the blessings they see. They have developed spiritual eyes like a cat, and they trust God to work even in darkness. With that vision, they give thanks to God because they’re convinced that he will work, somehow and some way, to bring meaning even in their most difficult moments. And when they experience God’s blessings, these people are the first to celebrate! I appreciate these people, and I want to become more like them. I’ve noticed that it is in the hard times, the painful times,  the times of loss that we’re most likely to face a “Tipping Point”.

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