The Camera

Coming down from the Great Wall riding on an alpine slide was a memorable experience. For those of you who aren’t familiar with what that is, it’s like a one man bobsled with wheels that zig-zags down the mountain side on a metal track. Using a lever, you control the speed of the sled. The regular position allows you to slide forward, but prevents you from going too fast. Pulling it towards you applies the full power of the brakes, bringing you to a stop. Pushing forward releases all slowing mechanisms, and your car picks up a surprising amount speed as you roll unconstrained down this mountain. As you go down this Alpine slide there are regular signs reminding you to slow down.

I have to admit that I was being kind of reckless. My roommate Josh (who was riding in front of me) had a much slower sled, and it didn’t take long before I had caught up to him, intentionally ramming into the back of his sled. (I did this not only once, but three times.) The third time I hit his sled especially hard, smashing his draw-string bag hanging off the back of his little sled. I got that awful feeling in my gut reminding me that my camera was in that bag. You would have thought that would have ended my recklessness, but I was just getting started. (I’m embarrassed to write this…) I pulled back hard on my brakes and came to a complete stop. Waiting as long as possible without getting hit by a sled behind me, I took off down the track full speed with no one in front of me. Cruising down particularly steep sections of the track I felt my sled lift off the ground, catching air as I passed sudden drops in the track. As I passed check-points I paid no attention to the safeguards on the side of the track shouting at me to slow down. Nearing the end of the Alpine Slide, there was a particularly steep corner that my sled wasn’t prepared to take at that speed. Everything went into slow motion as I felt my sled begin to ride up the side of the wall and flip upside down, coming out from under me, turning me from a sitting position to being sprawled out face down. Looking up from my stomach, I rolled off the track moments before being run-over by the sled behind me. He smashed into my already upside down sled seconds after I got out of the way. I felt extremely lucky, despite the large cut on my right knee. I walked the last little bit to the end the track.

Now to get to the reason I’m writing this entry. Holding that broken camera in my hands, a thousand thoughts went through my mind all at once. Frustration, disappointment, anger maybe?
Some years ago (when I was still a little boy), my Dad helped my Uncle Truman and his friend Travis move to Georgia. My dad was driving Travis’s SUV pulling a U-Haul up a mountain when the engine completely gave out. My dad expected him to be mad and frustrated with him, or at least about the situation, but he wasn’t. His reaction was calm and his response was simply: “I guess my stewardship over this car has ended.”

Being upset about my broken camera wasn’t going to help anything, and the only one to blame was myself. With a slight chuckle I remarked to those standing around me: “Well that was dumb.” I had an hour ride back to Beijing to think about how dumb that had been. Could I afford to buy a new camera right now? I just might have to go without one for a while. Those were my thoughts when Josh handed me his camera that his parents had sent it to him while he was on his mission. With a Christ-like smile on his face he responded that he doesn’t use it any more, commenting that he always uses the camera on his phone now. I can’t really put into words the way I felt in that moment. All I can say is that it’s amazing how powerfully you can feel the Lord’s love through someone’s actions.