I was a mere 12 years old during the Winter Olympics of 1992. I was kind of into figure skating, and was really looking forward to seeing Kristi Yamaguchi skate - but other than that I wasn't the biggest fan in the world or anything. So as my family watched the men's short programs, I thought nothing much of it.

Until...

A small, trim man in a close-fitting blue suit skated out to the center of the ice, shifting his weight nervously. He immediately caught my eye... there was something about his presence, the way he carried himself. The announcer said his name was "Paul Wylie." Cute name, I thought. Then the camera zoomed in and I saw that he was cute too! Very much so, with those deep eyes... and that boyish brown hair! His music started, filling the arena, and he stood breathing deeply for a moment, and then began.

Oh, man. Right away... there it was. Something inexplicable... the way he skated, his body movements... he was magic. And his hands! Every skater I'd watched previously, both male and female, displayed either stiff, unelegant hands or hands that thrust fakely all over the place with fingers poking out awkwardly. Paul's were perfect, and they just seemed to be that way naturally, with no effort on his part. I watched his beautiful hands and his beautiful movements and within ten seconds of his program had been hooked.

He began to pick up speed, doing crossovers. "He's preparing for a jump," I said to my parents. Paul seemed kind of nervous. Up in the air he went... spin... spin... spin... land! He'd stuck it! And then... he SMILED! (Or rather, beamed!) And from then on he seemed to relax and just kept smiling, and as I watched his smile and his hands and his movements... well... to borrow from Gene Kelly, "just listen to my heart go pitter-pat..."

Spin, sit spin, rising up with his skate in his hand, spin... finale. He'd skated a perfect program. He jumped all over the ice in his happiness, and I about fell out of my chair. What a guy!

In between the short and long programs there were several profiles done on him (of course, in my youthful stupidity, I didn't tape a single one). The admiration increased. I couldn't wait to see him skate again.

Finally the night of the long program arrived. Everyone was falling all over themselves. In my mind, Paul was sure to win! And then he came out, and skated brilliantly. Those Russian splits will be engrained in my memory forever. Out came the smile - and he finished a clean program! He had to win!

He was robbed, I'm tellin' ya. He got the silver - finishing behind a guy who fell ungracefully and who moved his arms like they were heavy metal rods. Grrr. (Postscript: I understand now, after listening to Paul speak about this, that the silver was what God intended for him and it was the most perfect thing he could have recieved. As he said, "My silver WAS my gold.")

Regardless, during the whole medal ceremony, he never stopped smiling. I thought his face was going to crack, he was smiling so hard. He was so overjoyed. I nicknamed him "Smiley Wylie"... too bad he doesn't smile as much when he skates these days. It was so cute. ^_^

Anyway, though, from that point on, I have been the biggest fan of the little piece of heaven dubbed Paul Wylie. Not long after the Olympics I discovered (through my subscription to "Brio" magazine) that Paul was a Christian as well, and my respect & admiration for him increased as I began looking at him as not only a charming and talented skater, but a devoted brother in Christ.