This article originally appeared in print journal November/December 2002.
The sign staring at my kids presented an inviting option to satisfy their adventure-hungry appetites. Mind you, it didn’t seem to be like any adventure that I’ve been a part of. And what an odd word combination: “Virtual Reality.” I’d love to hear George Carlin explain this marriage of ideas…”Which is it? If it’s virtual, then it can’t be real, can it?” One thing was certain—they wanted more than virtual money for my kids to strap on some goggles and pretend they were spying-kickboxing-NASCAR driving.
I snorted as I walked away. “No wonder we’re getting flabby as a nation,” I thought. “Kids can engage mortal enemies in martial arts battle from the comfort of an easy chair.” I hoped there were better options in the Adventuredome. After all, my teens had purchased the all-day pass (with accompanying neon wristband).
It turned out there were plenty of adventures to choose from. Jason and Alison circulated through the roller coaster over and over, looping and twisting fast enough to keep my stomach properly knotted. A climbing wall was available if my kids wanted a more physical kind of challenge. And I was proud that my kids didn’t see the attraction of having their bodily fluids rush to the surface of their skins under the G-forces imposed by the spinning, centrifugal, metal monster, aptly named Chaos.
Of course, extreme-o-maniacs would snarl at such domesticated adventures. Jason might have caught their respect later in the week when he…er…I dropped $54 so that he could, attached to a bungee cord, leap 17 stories into a pool of shallow water. What a rush! As I stood earthbound in the desert sun, videotaping his adventure, I wondered what I’d ever done that could possibly match my son’s courage.
Then I realized that I’d done more truly adventurous things than could be accomplished on some glitzy entertainment strip. I’ve taken kids mountain climbing in the Tetons, backpacking in the Smokies, canoeing in the Boundary Waters, and surviving in Wrigley’s right field bleachers. Every time I meet adventuresome youth ministry colleagues—those who’ve camped, biked, sailed, snorkeled, parachuted, rafted and ridden their ways into the hearts of their teenagers—I feel like we’re soul mates in the field of sanctified stress. They know that, properly challenged, today’s self-absorbed teen can be tomorrow’s missionary hero. These sorts of adventures offer space and time for reflection, so we can make the connection between, say, rappelling down a cliff face and trusting Jesus.
By now my thoughts were out of control. If missionaries are the adventure heroes of the Christian faith, then mission trips have to be even better adventures than the kinds requiring specialized equipment. There’s an authenticity to the quality of risk in a mission trip that isn’t as evident in other adventures. If we do well in meeting the challenges, real needs are met and real people are helped.
“So that’s the secret to a great adventure,” I thought. Put something of myself on the line to help others who really need my help. Prepare seriously for the risk and commit to other like-minded adventurers. Mix this as a common, rather than unusual, set of ingredients into my life, and you can start calling me Indiana Rahn.
A hierarchy of worthy adventures fell into place: virtual reality can’t match a thrilling roller-coaster, which isn’t nearly as good as a life-threatening bungee jump, which can’t hold a candle to a high-stress adventure trip, which doesn’t have nearly the potential of a mission plunge, which would be really great if I could slip it into the routines of my life instead of dedicating a special 10 days each summer to the experience.
I sighed and looked around for some carnival food to reward myself for my hard thinking. Then—just before the slushy imposed a neuron-numbing brain freeze—I heard a not-so-still, small voice that caught my breath.
“Dave, if you have to work so hard to figure out that walking daily with me is the most rewarding adventure possible, how will you ever convince teens that it just doesn’t get any better than me?”
Forgive me, Jesus. And help my reality become virtuous and not virtual. t　
