Finding Grace on a Frozen Pond: A Short Story

In his book “The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life,” author James Martin, S.J., talks about ways in which individuals can experience God in the most subtle of ways.

Like Buddha and Saint Ignatius of Loyola—the 16th century founder of the Jesuits, along with non-denominational spiritual guides like Eckart Tolle, teach that discerning these moments require awareness and being present. They can come from prayer or meditation. They can come from experiencing the stillness of nature while walking in the woods on a snowy day, or from the delight that radiates from a young child. Martin refers to these experiences as “common longings” and “heartfelt connections.”

Just a few weeks ago, on a cold, New England winter Sunday, I witnessed one of these powerful experiences myself.

Early that day, one of my brothers had taken my 8-year-old nephew ice skating for the first time on a small, frozen pond just down the road from their house. He texted some photos showing Sam proud as could be standing on sharpened blades for the first time. 

And because he didn’t have enough, later in the day, Sam begged his father to go ice skating again. Into his car’s trunk, my brother tossed a few pairs of perfectly good hockey-style ice skates he had picked up that someone was throwing out alongside the road, and loaded up his thermos with hot chocolate to head back to the pond. He texted me letting me know he was going back with Sam.

Living not too far from the pond, I trudged through some snow in the woods and made my way over to meet them. I always relished my encounters with Sam; whenever I would see him, I made sure to ask him: “Where’s my hug?” As I got closer, I saw a half dozen or so cars there, but not my brother’s. Out on the pond were 10 highs school-aged boys playing a fervent game of hockey. 

When my brother arrived, Sam wouldn’t leave the car. Overwhelmed by the sight of the skaters twice his age, he sank down in the backseat, trying to hide himself behind the headrest. My brother urged him to give the older players no thought, but it drove Sam’s emotions deeper. He was on the verge of tears and started to kick the back of the seat in front of him. My brother told him that everything would be ok and to take a deep breath. He still wouldn’t budge. “I want to go home!” he pleaded over and over again. 

My brother closed the door and walked away from the car to chat with our father, who had stopped by to check out the action as well.

After a few minutes and trying to find the right words to say, I opened the backseat door and told Sam I’d go out there on the ice with him, even though I didn’t have skates. He continued to sulk and repeated his desire to go home. I could sense his fear and anxiety. I closed the door and walked away feeling disheartened.

Not too long after that, a man and a young boy came out of the nearby woods riding an ATV and headed in our direction down the road. As they came closer to the car, Sam instantly recognized his friend Jackson, who lived a few houses down from him. Jackson was in a grade older, but they were friends because they rode the same bus together.

As the ATV slowed to stop and watch the pond hockey, Sam instantly jumped up from his slouched position. “That’s Jackson!” Sam exclaimed through the half open window. 

And like that, Sam was up and running out of the car, rushing towards my brother to relay again that his friend was there. Sam went over to Jackson and asked him if he wanted to ice skate. The young boy, said “sure;” it was his first day, too. Miraculously, my brother had another pair of youth skates that fit Jackson. As Jackson’s father helped tie his son’s skates on for the first time, Sam sat impatiently in a youth sized folding chair, proclaiming to my brother: “It takes too long to tie these.” 

When his skates were tied up, Sam took the small chair out from underneath him and went towards Jackson, explaining that he could use it to help him balance as he finagled his way across the ice. 

The five-on-five game was still going on, but Sam and Jackson made their way to the edge of the pond and skated back in forth, staying close to each other. Sam encouraged Jackson and offered him some tips on how to push the chair. 

Sam was in his glory and any trace of the fear that he had experienced just minutes before had vanished. After some time, the two took a hot chocolate break, sitting on the ice. Sam and Jackson were silent, but I could see how proud Sam was. 

An hour later—long after the high school students had finished their final game for the day—Jackson and Sam continued to skate on the pond. It was close to 4:30 p.m. and the sun would be setting soon. “I need to also go grocery shopping for the week,” my brother told Sam, hoping he’d take the hint that it was time to wrap up. 

Enthralled with having the frozen pond to themselves and searching for bubbles within the ice, Sam asked if he could stay longer. “A few more minutes, then we have to go,” my brother replied.

Eventually, Sam and Jackson walked off the ice and made their ways towards their fathers to get help with taking their skates off. Elated that he had found the depths of his inner courage and the joy of finding a friend he could relate to, I could hear Sam whisper to his father, “Can I tell Jackson that he can keep the skates?” His fear had transformed into compassion. 

I wished everyone well, and asked Sam for my goodbye hug. Sensing that his friend might be watching, he gave me a small and quick embrace. 

As I walked down the road back home, my body filled with joy. What I had just witnessed was God, the universe, delighting another in the most subtle of ways.