Thump, thump, thump, and then a long silence. Then again, thump, thump, thump, and a silence. It’s June in 1135 BC in Israel and interesting things are happening. Ruth the Moabitess is over near Salem batting her eyelashes at Boaz. They will have a son whom they will name Obed and a grandchild named Jesse. Up north a little girl has just been born. Her name is Hannah. Years from now, after she has given up any hope of having a child, she will give birth to a son named Samuel. Not long after that, Jesse over in Bethlehem will have a large family, the last son being named David. It’s Israel in the 12th century BC, and interesting things are happening all around.
In fact, it’s a little too interesting over along the coast. For the last six years raiders have swept down the coastal hills and stolen every year’s wheat harvest. No one had the courage to fight them. The local Israelites took to hiding in caves, clutching each other and shaking with fright. The annual parade of raiders included Midianites and Amalekites, Arabs and Bedouin. Interesting to watch from your cave hide out.
Much is happening all around. But not right here. Thump, thump, thump. The sound seems to be coming from down inside a small stone cistern used to crush grapes to make wine, but that won’t happen until August. Look closely and you see two eyes peering over the stone edge and up toward the coastal foothills nearby. Then Thump, thump, thump and a long pause. Suddenly (it happens so fast you are not sure you really saw it) a little puff of something shoots up into the air above the wine vat and then drifts away on the wind. Then the two eyes peep over the edge again, wide eyes with lots of the whites showing, fearful eyes.
Gideon is scared to death some raiding party will discover him as he thump, thump, threshes his wheat in the wine vat, keeps a lookout toward the hills, and then winnows the grain and chaff with the on-shore breeze. It’s hard work at any time, but doing it on down on his bent and shaky knees hiding in a wine vat is even harder.
Hard and hopeless. If this is what you get for being God’s chosen people, then demand a recount. But Gideon was too afraid to demand anything.
Another cautious peek over the rim. No one around. Thump, thump, “Hail you mighty warrior” a voice greets him. Gideon jumped like a gazelle, about four feet straight up. He didn’t know he could do that.
“There’s a lot you don’t know you can do,” said the Angel. “Be who you are.”
“I’m nobody,” said Gideon, kicking at the chaff with his foot.
“No, you are God’s own, held safely in his hand, and in that strength you’ll deliver Israel.”
“Yeah, sure. Prove it.”
God did. It took some time, and it took a couple of wet fleece, (one dry and one wet, actually), one attempt at a night-time raid, some lapping of water, and a rolling barley loaf. But by the time it was all done, Gideon was who the angel said he was, a mighty warrior. Trumpets blasted and pots were shattered and with a great shout Israel was delivered.
“How did you do it?” they asked him. “Turns out, that’s who God made me to be,” Gideon replied.
On August 7th forty-six years ago Kevin Alderton was born in Dartford, England. At age eight he took his first ski run down the dry practice slope at Woolwich Barracks. By the time his sixteenth birthday came around, he was a dry slope ski instructor.
While serving in the British Army he qualified as a Military Ski Instructor. He represented his military unit in alpine skiing events and race teams. That’s who he was. As unlikely as it may be for a flatland boy from England, he was a downhill skier, and he knew it.
On April 14th of 2006 Kevin Alderton was on the famous “Flying K” straight downhill run 6,500 feet up in the French Alps. There he set a world record, 101 miles per hour as he hurtled through the timing gate.
Why did he do it? That’s who he is. God made Gideon to be a courageous warrior and Kevin to be a great skier.
God gave Ruth someone who love her, and to Hanna God gave a son.
Did it come easy? It took time. Ruth had to glean, Hanna had to learn to pray. God had to train Gideon, and Kevin had his own work to do.
“I trained hard for three months,” Kevin says, “most of which was spent in my living room [in North London] wearing skis and a helmet perfecting my position. [My partner] Susan takes pictures of me, then emails them to my trainer in Scotland who sends me feedback.”
That April 14th Kevin was a tiny speck up on the mountain, lining up to turn down one of the world’s most dangerous ski runs. Speed skiing is the second fastest sport. Only sky diving is faster.
He knew he could do it. That’s who he is. He was just being who he is.
I know you are thinking speed skiing takes more courage than you’ve ever had. But, Kevin did it because he has the right muscles and training and equipment and support, right?
No, although Kevin did have a radio connection to his coach through his helmet, he was all alone down that mountain at over 100 miles per hour. No, Kevin didn’t do it because he has the muscles or the training or the equipment. Kevin did it because that is who he is. God made him to ski and ski fast, and nothing will stop him.
Eight years before Kevin was on his way home when he saw a gang of men attacking a woman in her doorway. He intervened but was brutally beaten. When they were done beating him they held him down and they gouged out his eyes.
Kevin Alderton is blind. He broke the downhill ski speed record not because he could and not because everyone said he couldn’t. He did it because that’s who he really is.