It Happened So Fast: I Was Falling Over the Cliff

by Pringle Franklin

Everything was wonderful. Until it wasn’t. In February, Sam and I were skiing with friends in Andermatt, Switzerland, thrilled by the rugged beauty of the Alps, the fresh snow, the crystal blue sky, and the quaint charm of our Swiss village. Near the end of the second ski day, we were winding our way downhill on a fairly easy trail. Across the valley, our village looked like a child’s play set with its painted, wooden houses and onion-domed church spires. I was already anticipating the pleasure of coming in after a long day of winter sports and cradling a cup of hot tea in my hands.

Perhaps for this reason, I had skied ahead of our foursome, on a switchback trail that cut its way back and forth, down the steep grade of Gemsstock mountain. Without warning, I hit a patch of ice and found myself taken over by gravity, a pawn in an unsympathetic game ruled by the laws of physics. A body in motion stays in motion until something stops it.

I was headed straight for a ledge. A sort of mini guardrail, made of packed snow, provided a potential buffer. When my ski tips hit this mound, I thought that I would to be able to turn and steer my skis back onto the trail. Instead, the icy embankment only increased my speed. Like a rag doll, I flew out into the air, sailing about six or seven feet above the ground.

As the frigid air rushed into my face, I could do nothing to mitigate the oncoming damage. There wasn’t even time to think. I was being carried along by outside forces. My legs flew out in front of me. The next thing I knew—Bam! Bam! My legs shook as the narrow end of my skis, the part behind my feet, struck something. My feet were still attached to my skis; my ski tips were pointing up, and my legs were straight out and suspended by the bindings, never having hit the ground. I looked at myself and realized that the end of each ski was lodged in a pile of snow. My rear end had somehow settled down on a fluffy white pillow.

I heard voices and looked up behind me. Several unknown skiers on the trail peered over the edge with anxious faces. They were cringing. Clearly they had expected to see the twisted limbs of a human pretzel. That’s when it hit me. I was in one piece! Not even a scratch.

I waved at the concerned skiers, assuring them that I was fine. They looked at one another and shook their heads, unsure whether to believe me. Then I began laughing. Laughing wildly, from deep within. With joy, and perhaps with hysteria. What a narrow escape! I felt amazingly lucky, no—blessed. Naturally, I sat there and gave thanks to the Lord and his protective angels. Every morning, I pray to Jesus and ask for his light, love, and protection to work within me, that I may be an agent of his highest will. Because we were skiing, I had also lifted up our day’s adventure and asked for protection for our group. That Jesus, he had been listening!

Soon, I was back on the trail and reunited with Sam and our friends, Joanne and Greg.

After regrouping and reassuring Sam that I was fine, I made a sudden decision. The hot tea could wait. “When we get back, I am going straight to the local church to sit and give my thanks to God,” I said. Sam and Joanne said they would like to join me. When we arrived, the others took a few minutes to look around the impressive graveyard while I slipped in through the large front door.

When I entered the blessedly empty church, it felt like diving into a pool of warmth. I walked forward a few steps into the (Catholic) Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, then stood stock still in the center aisle. The stained-glass windows were simple, yellowish glass with neat rows of hexagonal shapes. It reminded me of working inside my bee hives. In my mind’s eyes, I could see clusters of honey bees walking over the wax frames of golden honey, sunlight pouring down on them. I relaxed at this memory of being in my bee garden at home. Suddenly, a wave of energy rushed up from the earth through my feet and charged me with a pulsating sensation, then rushed out again. It felt grounding, like lightning trying to make its way out of an electrified body.

I understood that, although I had not been hurt, I had experienced a fright. This quiet interlude in the church was exactly what I needed. As I slipped into a pew and knelt, I felt the joy of being held in the loving hands of God. None of us can earn his mercy and goodness. We can only receive it with grateful hearts and allow the miracle of his constant love to deepen our trust in his goodness.