SATURDAY promised bright skies, clean, deep-packed snow. The trails were nearby and well groomed—ready for beginner, intermediate, and advanced skier. Perfect, at last, for a rare family outing to cross-country ski.

Though I felt pretty accomplished, and relished any chance to be out there, I'd stopped alpine skiing partly out of fear of tearing down a hill, at any speed. (It had become my habit to pause at the top—and the pauses were getting longer and longer.) So when I skied on my own, I'd tend to choose cross-country trails with few steep hills or sharp turns. Yet I knew that on Saturday those trails would not satisfy our two sons (or their dad), who'd be out of sight before I even had my skis on!

Beyond just the concern over the skiing, other mental baggage had to be routed as well—like feeling out of touch with the boys, and perhaps with my own purpose and future. And such troubling issues fed my imagination with insecurities.

But bailing out or being a wet blanket was not an option for me. Determined to comfortably join in the fun, I knew that my only effective resort would be prayer. "Father," I cried, "this has got to stop. You certainly aren't making me afraid." Yet even more than being free of anxiety, I wanted the four of us to have a needed day of joy together. One designed by Love and framed with laughter.

My trust in God's generous care needed to deepen—that was evident. So I prayed to Him somewhat like this: You are All-in-all Love, unable to make fear or confusion. So how could fear or confusion possibly exist? Your qualities, like loving arms, entwine and feed this family. Gentleness, appreciation, spontaneity are like lights from Your presence that dissolve the darkness of impatience, ineptness, competition, and all that is joyless or divisive.

As I listened to my prayer, I felt God's immediacy. And it was at that point it occurred to me to memorize Jesus' Beatitudes. Not by rote, but rather with a focus on discerning their message and promise. Suddenly joy and confidence replaced the darkness and anxiety I felt. An expectation of good overtook me. I'd accepted that God's Word had the power to heal, no wait required, whatever the situation.

Some Bible translations begin each beatitude with the word happy. Happiness, I thought—what a worthy goal. Keenly moved by Mary Baker Eddy's assessment of the Sermon on the Mount, which begins with the Beatitudes, it always had been my goal to learn the entire Sermon, "sometime." "To my sense," Mrs. Eddy once wrote, "the Sermon on the Mount, read each Sunday without comment and obeyed throughout the week, would be enough for Christian practice. The Word of God is a powerful preacher, and it is not too spiritual to be practical, nor too transcendental to be heard and understood" (Message to The Mother Church for 1901, p. 11).

That "sometime" had arrived. So for each of the remaining five days, I became centered around the promises in the Beatitudes, whatever I was doing. I concentrated hard on letting their message (however it came to me) work in new ways in my heart. The details of my prayer and inspiration that week are now just part of a big mix of love for Jesus and his life-story. At times I've imagined myself sitting at his feet, as he taught and preached; as he assured Jairus, the ruler of a synagogue, he'd heal his daughter; when he gently acknowledged a woman freed of an 18-year hemorrhage; at the cross, as he put his mother, Mary, into his disciple's care. The list goes on.

During the week before our ski day, I had moments of anxiously feeling I just had to learn the Beatitudes in time. Yet I was so open to hearing what God would tell me that calm would take over, and

I'd find myself feeling comforted, kinder—and yes, happier. A nagging loneliness began slipping away. My personal weekend concerns were no longer the focus. And I think that's what prayer with the Beatitudes is meant to accomplish—to chip away at personal grief and insecurity until they're plainly not our own or anyone's, because they're not from God.

My compassion naturally turned toward those who despair of help and holiness, who struggle to feel God's love, who mourn some loss or feel persecuted. I began to realize that by heeding God's Word in this way, I was contributing to the heaping of blessings on the hungry heart, on the meek, and the pure. And as Christian Science taught me, I prayed to recognize that His intelligence was at work in every family, everywhere.

This project and prayer had been my secret. And by Saturday I could rattle off all those Beatitudes. But that was no longer my need or goal. I was feeling a power not my own—filled with a meekness and joy unbounded. I simply knew that God was in charge. That His love joined our family as we spent the day together.

My one memory of that day remains vivid and crystal clear: The afternoon sun is catching trees and snow in shiny unison. I've just reached the crest of a pretty good-sized, steep hill. They're all waiting at the bottom, grinning and cheering. Without a pause I sail down, so happy. |CSS