Walking Out on the Ice
Walking Out on the Ice
It’s funny — when I tell folks today that I walked out on the ice, they say,
“Really?”
I say,
“Sure… why not?”
It’s been cold long enough. The ice is thick enough. Cranberry bogs and shallow lakes with little movement freeze quickly. After a week of weather in the teens and below, it’s safe. And besides, I’ve been on these lakes before — since I was a little kid.
My mom and dad pulled me across them on a sled. When I wore a size two, they strapped double-bladed skates onto my boots. When I got bigger, I graduated to single blades.
My mother and grandmother, my dad and my Pop — they all taught me the same way:
By doing.
By trusting the process.
By trusting what people today call the science.
Why would I be afraid to take my own children the way my parents taught me?
Not to be presumptuous.
Not to be careless.
But to trust that what worked yesterday, under the same conditions, will work today.
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Now, walking out as an older man, my fear isn’t falling through the ice…
…it’s falling down.
And even then, I’m not alone.
My family taught me something else:
Never go out alone.
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When I step onto the ice with skates, I don’t imagine cutting through like a cartoon character. The thought never enters my mind.
When the lake lets out that deep warping sound — stress cracks echoing across the frozen surface — I find it fascinating, not terrifying.
I remember.
When I watch someone who has never walked on the ice step out, I can see it in their eyes. They think they’re walking a tightrope… or stepping across a fragile pane of glass.
And it’s a beautiful thing to watch the fear fade with experience.
There are always those who test the ice. This year there were ice fishermen already out, cutting holes and dropping lines into the dark water below.
And still, there will be one or two standing on the shore who will not step out for fear.
I feel sorry for them.
No assurance persuades them.
No reasoning reaches them.
If the only good in the world were ten feet from shore, they would starve where they stand.
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How much this mirrors our walk by faith.
We trust the faithfulness of God and His unchanging principles and commandments.
Peter stepped onto real water.
The foolish man built on sinking sand.
But Christ is the Rock — the firm foundation.
(Matthew 14:29–31; Matthew 7:24–27)
Such care He takes for His children that He can say:
“Fear not.” (Isaiah 41:10)
“Peace, be still.” (Mark 4:39)
He orders our steps (Psalm 37:23), directs our paths (Proverbs 3:5–6), and tells us to walk in them (Ephesians 2:10).
He warns us what to avoid and how to avoid it — and then He says:
“Follow me.” (Luke 9:23)
And the heart that trusts Him answers:
Where He leads me, I will follow.
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He is Lord over the cold, the wind, and the frozen deep:
“He sendeth forth his commandment upon earth:
his word runneth very swiftly.
He giveth snow like wool:
he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth his ice like morsels:
who can stand before his cold?
He sendeth out his word, and melteth them:
he causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow.”
— Psalm 147:15–18
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And when we do — when we reach the middle and feel that cold wind blowing on a bright winter day — something happens.
If we stand very still…
face into the light…
stretch out our arms…
the wind begins to move us.
Not by effort.
Not by striving.
But by yielding.
The same ice that held us becomes a path, and the unseen wind becomes our guide.
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So it is with those who cast away fear and hear His voice:
“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
“Fear thou not; for I am with thee.” (Isaiah 41:10)
When we stop fighting for control… when we stand still before Him… the Spirit begins to move.
“And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind…”
— Acts 2:2
He changes our hearts.
He redirects our steps.
He carries us according to His will.
(Romans 8:14; Psalm 37:23)
And where He leads…
we will go.
For we walk by faith, not by sight.
(2 Corinthians 5:7)
