How Not to Ski

Navigating Twists and Turns with Teens

Navigating faith is like tackling a slalom course—full of unexpected twists, dramatic wipeouts, and moments when others seem to glide past while you're face-first in the snow. It's messy, confusing, and sometimes you’re just hoping to make it to the bottom in one piece. If that’s tough for us as adults, how much harder must it be for the young people in our lives?

Anyone who knows me might wonder what qualifies me to discuss skiing. Well, it's been a decade this week since my inaugural ski trip to Avoriaz, France—a week filled with pain, humiliation, and sheer survival. In hindsight, it was also a masterclass in understanding faith (I certainly needed faith to make it out alive). Much like skiing, faith involves stepping into the unknown, frequent flailing, and realising that progress isn't always graceful.

Here is the exact diary of my Skiing mis-adventure just as it happened…

March 8th 2015, Day 1: Falling Guaranteed

DAY 1 IS NOT GOING WELL. Crashed into a mini ski lift and took so long to get up that four French men on a balcony filmed me for 12 minutes. I am probably on YouTube.

But the views are nice.

March 9th 2015,  Day 2: Left for Dead

Things went from bad to worse when our hosts suggested a nice, easy run to start the day. A few minutes later, I was alone in a forest, having flown off the edge of a piste. I took the opportunity for a quick nature study of French pine trees up close, followed by a full-body check to see which parts were still attached.

Meanwhile, the boys sat in a café drinking coffee until I eventually climbed my own way out of the deep snow. Not a single one of them realised I was gone.

But the views are nice.

March 10th 2015, Day 3: Fear of Never Getting Home

Everything was fine until I needed the toilet at the top of a mountain. When the cable car stopped mid-air, I had to retreat to a special mental place—one I’ve only visited once before, when trapped in a mini-metro on a bumpy road in India after a long drink.

Finally spotting the apartments, I exclaimed, “Now I know how Moses felt when he entered the Promised Land!” At which point, everyone corrected my theology:

“Moses never entered the Promised Land.”

That was the moment I lost all hope. I might have let myself go had it not been for the very clear signage prohibiting such an act.

But the views are nice.

March 11th 2015, Day 4: Another Lesson in Humiliation

A friend suggested a short stop at a restaurant as a courtesy because someone in our group had just crashed into it at full pace. After a quick pit stop, I tried to put my skis back on and somehow ended up rolling backwards into a table full of Brits.

Thankfully, there was no language barrier, so they were able to fully express their feelings towards me in perfect Queen’s English. They then sat back with their drinks, offering frequent cheers and laughter as I tried to get up from an almost perfect split position.

As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, a troop of small children from the “Village des Enfants” ski school glided past in perfect unison, each toddler smiling, pointing, and giggling as they effortlessly cruised by.

Side note: I have discovered this week that French children apparently ski from birth. Midwives pull them out, cut the cord, and attach skis. For baby showers, French women don’t ask for nappies or bibs—they club together to buy ski passes.

Eventually, one of the Brits took pity on me and coached me up the slope by repeatedly shouting “Edge! Edge! Edge!” After six minutes of humiliation, I finally made it to the top, greeted by cheering from the entire restaurant.

My parting words: “Thank you, folks, I’m here all week.”

But the views are nice.

March 12th 2015, Day 5: Prepare for the Unexpected

​This morning, I narrowly avoided being hit by a light aircraft—by just 45 seconds. Yes, you heard that right - an aircraft! "Come skiing," they said. "It'll be perfectly safe," they said!​

Picture this: I'm gracefully (read: clumsily) navigating a gentle blue run daydreaming about après-ski fondue. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a small airplane decides to join the fun—​sliding down the slope like it mistook the piste for a runway. Turns out, the plane had failed to take off from a nearby snowy runway and was making an unplanned entrance onto our ski slope. Thankfully, I was about a minute behind the chaos, blissfully unaware that my ski run had turned into an impromptu airport taxiway.​ If I was a better skier I could have been in REAL trouble. (See the actual pic below!)

But the views are nice.

March 13th 2015, Day 6: Taking the Wrong Path

Being Friday the 13th, my friend Gav and I had a feeling that the others might try to get us to attempt a vertical drop, ending the week in either a) style or b) a rescue helicopter. To avoid this, we lied. We told them we wanted to practice technique and would meet them at lunch. As soon as they fell for it, we headed straight into town and ordered coffee at a nice bistro. Later, I confidently led Gav to a ski lift, ignoring his concerns about whether it was the right one. Halfway up, he pointed across the mountain and said: “That’s where we were supposed to get off.”

Friday the 13th had struck.

We were on the wrong ski lift, heading higher and higher into the unknown, completely unsupervised. Gav turned to me and simply said, “I hate you.”

Le Death Valley was our only option to get down.

Twenty minutes of downward crawling, light yelping, and sheer terror later, we reached the bottom. I decided it was a good time to discuss the power of forgiveness.

Gavin hasn’t spoken to me since.

But the views were nice.

Navigating Twists and Turns with Teens

Learning to ski was completely unnatural for me. I wasn’t just bad at it—I found it exhausting, frustrating, and at times, utterly humiliating. Nothing about it felt instinctive. Every movement felt forced, every fall inevitable. Progress was painfully slow.

And yet, that’s exactly how it feels for many young people trying to find their feet in faith. It doesn’t come naturally. It’s unfamiliar, sometimes overwhelming, and often discouraging. They’re surrounded by a culture that tells them to go in the opposite direction, and they’re constantly battling doubts, distractions, and the fear of getting it wrong.

When it comes to young people, let’s remember:

1. Everyone Falls—Be There to Help Them Up, Not Judge Them. Just as beginners often stumble on the slopes, young people may falter in their faith journey. Our role is to extend a helping hand, not to criticize.

2. Feeling Lost Is Inevitable—Don't Leave Them Behind.There are moments when young people may feel directionless or isolated in their spiritual walk. It's essential to walk alongside them, ensuring they don't feel abandoned. What is ‘an easy run’ for us might be a massive hurdle for others.

3. The Unexpected Will Happen—Stay With Them Through It. Life is unpredictable, and unforeseen challenges can shake one's faith. Supporting young people in their faith journey requires patience, empathy, and unwavering presence. By helping them up when they fall, staying with them when they're lost, and standing by them during unforeseen challenges, we embody the essence of true mentorship.​

In What You Are Made For, I talk about how young people are searching for purpose, for something solid to stand on. But discovering who you are in Christ isn’t an instant revelation—it’s a journey. And like learning any new skill, it takes time. You don’t start out confident. You start out unsure, making mistakes, struggling to stay upright.

This is where the heart of my other book Parallel Faith comes in. Just like a beginner skier sticks close to someone more experienced—watching their movements, following their lead, and learning by staying near—young people in faith need the same. They need to see real, lived-out Christianity, not just hear about it. They need people who will walk beside them, not ahead of them—who will model what it means to trust Jesus in the everyday, in the struggles, and in the setbacks.

So who in your life is taking those first, wobbly steps toward Jesus? A teenager figuring out what they believe? A young person searching for meaning? Someone wrestling with doubts but too afraid to say it out loud?

Your role isn’t to expect them to have it all together. It’s to walk with them, help them up when they fall, and remind them that faith—like anything worth learning—takes time. Just remember: be patient, help them up, and don’t leave them in a snowdrift while you sip your coffee!