About a 4-minute read
I love the Olympics—both summer and winter. Although, oddly enough for someone who prefers sunshine, I tend to catch more of the Winter Games. (Is my northern Michigan roots kicking in?)
This year, two winter Olympians hail from northern Michigan—my home region—in aerials skiing. And that’s no coincidence. Winter Vinecki, from Gaylord (my hometown), encouraged Kaila Kuhn of nearby Boyne City to try aerials. Both cities are small, so having two Olympians from our corner of the state feels extraordinary. While they didn’t medal in the individual event, they advanced to the final round of six athletes. Honestly, qualifying for the Olympics is a victory in itself. (Later, Kaila Kuhn won gold in the mixed team aerial skiing event.)
Figure skating—my favorite winter Olympic sport—took me on a wild emotional ride.
I watched the team event closely as the U.S. went neck and neck with Japan, and I was elated when Ilia Malinin delivered his long program to secure team gold. What struck me most, though, was the camaraderie among teammates. Alysa Liu and Amber Glenn would later compete for individual gold, yet they genuinely appeared to be friends. That kind of respect in figure skating hasn’t always been the norm. (Does Tonya Harding come to mind?)
For me, these Games reinforced a powerful truth: the journey matters more than the results.
As someone who has struggled with performance pressure, I was sad watching Ilia’s individual free program. His short program had been impeccable. Nerves didn’t seem like the obvious culprit. I felt heartbroken for him when he failed to medal. Later, he posted (and deleted) a series of troubling messages on TikTok about wishing something bad would happen to him so he wouldn’t have to do it himself—about crying behind closed doors because it still wasn’t enough.
The pressure to perform on the world’s biggest stage—especially when you’re labeled “the one to watch”—is immense. And yet, something beautiful happened.
The public, including prominent athletes, rallied around him. Figures like Tom Brady, Stephen Curry, and Simone Biles offered encouragement. His Instagram flooded with support. Within two days of the program, his Instagram followers reached over a million—jumping from roughly 500,000 pre-Olympics.
Let that sink in.
People praised his sportsmanship. Immediately after leaving the Kiss and Cry, he congratulated the gold medalist. What a powerful example—for kids and even adults.
Then there was Alysa Liu. I was rooting for her because she was a joy to watch. She skated with freedom and joy! After taking a two-and-a-half-year hiatus from skating, she returned to win individual gold. In an interview (after the short program), she shared that winning medals aren’t her focus—sharing her art with the world is.
That perspective encouraged me.
Years ago, I served in vocational ministry. Growing up, my parents taught us to do our best, to focus on character and godliness over results. But in full-time ministry, I felt an intense pressure to perform from pastoral leadership. If I made a mistake, I’d get rebuked, often harshly. I loved ministering to people—the homeless and inmates—but the expectations and demands to be an “obedient” Christian weighed heavily. A burden that didn’t come from God but from people. Obedience often felt less about following God and more about pledging unwavering loyalty to (flawed) leaders. At times, it felt like I was serving in the army.
After I left, I spent years healing and reshaping my understanding of ministry.
During that season, I heard a true story about an American missionary overseas. When he first arrived, he was passionate and energized by support from home. But after years of labor—feeling forgotten by churches and supporters—he hit bottom. In desperation, he asked God what He wanted from him.
God answered: “I want you to enjoy me.”
That single sentence revolutionized his mindset. Instead of working for God, he chose to enjoy God. And ironically? His ministry flourished.
When I catch myself wondering if God approves of me—if I’m doing “enough”—I return to that story.
Am I enjoying Him?
Because at the end of the day, God doesn’t want our performance.
He wants our heart.