Anne’s spirit has always been a force of nature, an unyielding testament to what happens when determination meets passion. She’s lived her life chasing the extraordinary, pushing the boundaries of what the human body and spirit can endure. From carving down snow-covered peaks to defying gravity on waves and snowboard rails, Anne has always seen the impossible as merely the next challenge. But now, in the aftermath of her ninth surgery, it’s clear that her greatest challenge may not be a mountain or a wave but a battle against her own body.

Being forced to be still is an unbearable contradiction for a woman so accustomed to moving forward at breakneck speed.

The multiple tears in her rotator cuff happened while finishing a snowboard run at the landing zone, where riders slowed down and stopped safely. She hit a slick spot and went down hard, breaking the fall with her arm and dislocating her shoulder.

Ironically, Anne is a doctor specializing in kinesiology, which involves treating conditions like musculoskeletal injuries, arthritis, and neurological disorders, aiming to restore optimal movement and function. Realizing she needed to act quickly as her arm and hand were completely numb, she used her snowboard and knees to apply enough force by herself to pull her arm out far enough to reset it, relieving pressure on the nerves and bringing feeling back into her arm.

But her hopes that her shoulder might heal on its own this time were dashed by an MRI revealing multiple tears that required a 45-minute reconstructive surgery that turned into a three-hour ordeal so that she could return to her extreme sports at the pre-injury level.

As her father, I see her pain—a pain she’s so rarely allowed to surface—and I feel the weight of my helplessness. Anne, who has always seemed larger than life, is now a woman clutching her body in agony, tears streaming down her face as she fights the very human experience of suffering.

And yet, even in these moments, she doesn’t stop moving forward. The way she maneuvered her dislocated shoulder back into place using a snowboard as leverage—the sheer grit it required—feels almost mythical, but that’s Anne. She refuses to stop at any obstacle, no matter how overwhelming it seems.

Watching her endure the aftermath of this surgery, I realize that Anne’s journey is a reflection of the same truth we all face in life’s darkest moments: the only way out is through. Trials can feel like tunnels, enveloping us in darkness so thick that the light at the other end feels like a distant hope. But as Anne has always shown, the key is to keep going, even when every step feels impossible.

Last night, as Anne sat in silence, clutching her arm and trying to breathe through the pain, I found myself at a loss. Words seemed trivial in the face of her suffering. Marti suggested I sing, and though it felt odd at first, the lullabies I once sang to her as a child worked as they did then—soothing her spirit, if only for a moment.

And then I sang her a song I’d written, the one about walking through a tunnel of trials. The lyrics felt truer than ever as I sang them to Anne and now, share them with you:

Now there are times when our trials don’t come

From our own lack of faith in His Son

But from outside our soul

Where we have no control

And in these times of great suffering and pain

There is still so much more to be gained

For in our darkest hour

Lies His greatest power

So keep following and believing

And holding out your hand

And when the dark surrounds you

Remember it’s just a tunnel of trial

The light’ll break through and in a while

You’ll see it was all in His plan

Anne closed her eyes as I sang, and I imagined that even if just for a moment, she could see that light. Because the truth is, she’s always been moving toward it, whether on the slopes, the waves, or in the quiet fight of recovery. This, like every mountain she’s faced, is another challenge to overcome. The key is to keep going, keep believing, and keep heading for that light at the end of the tunnel.

Anne’s story, like the song, reminds us that trials are not meant to define us by our suffering but by our perseverance. The tunnel may feel endless, but Anne—extreme in her courage, fierce in her will to do the Lord’s will —will keep moving forward. And as she emerges into the light on the other side, she’ll remind us all that tunnels, though dark and lonely, are actually the shortest way to the other side of the mountain.