Suppose you have been skating since you were 3 years old. You've spent countless hours on the ice. Training. Learning. Concentrating. Jumping. For 24 years you had dreamed of this day- this chance. You're just hours away from stepping onto an ice skating rink in Albertville, France, one that is decorated with the five interlocking rings that all the world recognizes as the Olympic symbol.

Suppose you know that soon untold millions of people will be observing and evaluating your every spin, jump, and landing. And most important, a cadre of judges will be peering solemnly over their desks, preparing to reward you with no more than 6 points for your life's work.

Suppose you also know that your program on the ice tonight could mean the difference between the relative obscurity of normal life and the fame and fortune that awaits Olympic medalists. This evening on ice may be the watershed event in your life.

How will you while away the time as you wait? What will you do in the pre-race hours that could possibly be appropriate as you contemplate the importance of your date with destiny?

Only someone like Paul Wylie can answer that question.

On February 13, the 27-year-old skater from Denver woke up in the Savoie region of France with the realization that this day would be the beginning of the end of his amateur career as a skater. The next two times out on the ice would dictate the direction of Paul Wylie's life. If he were to skate poorly and finish down in the pack among the Olympic skaters, it would mean very little in the scheme of things as he wound down his amateur career and shifted his attention to law school. Or, if he were to skate well, his life could take a new and exciting turn.

And there was something else: Still lingering in his mind was the memory of 1988 in Calgary, when Wylie finished tenth at the Games. Although the dramatic skating story of Albertville seemed to revolve around a speed skater who now wanted to redeem himself, Dan Jansen wasn't the only skater who had to pick himself up and aim for 1992 with new resolve.

"In 1988 I fell on the first jump in my program," Paul Wylie explains about his initial Olympic competition. "It's hard to explain, but I didn't think the jump was that bad, and I didn't think I should have fallen. I felt like the ice was sort of breaking out underneath me. I had jumped right on top of the goalie crease, which tends to be sort of funny ice anyway.

"But I really think God is at work in all things. As I fell, I sort of saw some Scripture flash through my mind. It said that the righteous may fall, but he will not be utterly cast down [Psalm 37:24]. And the link of that is that they shall rise again. I really felt that [Albertville] was my time to rise again.

I wanted to stick around so I could have a good Olympics. And that was my goal for the whole 4 years. It wasn't necessarily the placement, or medal, although that would have been nice, but it was mostly just to skate well."

The years between the 1988 disappointment in Calgary and the 1992 opportunity for a second chance in Albertville were not reserved solely for skating. Wylie also found time to earn his undergraduate degree in political science from Harvard in 1991.

Shortly before entering Harvard in 1986, Wylie made a decision that would appear to put him at odds with the general atmosphere at the Cambridge, Massachusetts, school that Wylie describes as "the ultimate secular university." Soon after moving to Boston in 1985 to train, Wylie - as was his custom - attended a Sunday church service. The minister "was preaching on Bartimaeus, this blind guy sitting on the road," Wylie recalls. According to the minister, when Jesus walked past, Bartimaeus cried out for mercy. Jesus' response was surprising. "What is it you would have Me do for you?" Jesus asked. Wylie was surprised by what he was hearing. He was surprised that Jesus, who knew the man was blind, asked him to tell Him what was wrong. Before He would heal the man, the man had to ask for healing. "It was a radical, new concept for me that God could make a difference - that you could pray about something, and then He would begin to work on it in your life."

The concept of needing to ask God for a change, rather than just sitting back and expecting it to happen was for Wylie so radical, yet so practical. "I needed that," Wylie comments on this new idea of being able to talk with God and get help from Him. "I was lost and there were certain things in my life that had gotten out of hand. I could never forgive myself of my sin. I needed God. In the Gospel of John, chapter 3, it says, 'A man must be born again before he can enter the kingdom of heaven.' I realized that for Christ to truly live in me and me in Him, I had to accept His gift of a spiritual birth - the Holy Spirit in me."

Armed with his newfound faith, Wylie entered Harvard and found something that surprised him. Instead of being at odds with everyone, he immediately found students whom he shared something important. "The first people I met at Harvard were students from Christian fellowships like InterVarsity and Campus Crusade. For the first time, I got to meet committed Christians who were my age."

And for the first time he would be required to put his faith to the test under the rigors of a demanding college schedule and an intense training program. Probably very few people have ever attempted to earn a degree from Harvard while striving to gain world-class status in an individual sport. "If I hadn't known that God planned my life that way," he explains, "I think I would have backed out at some point."

But he didn't. And his perseverance eventually earned him the right to represent the United States for a second time in Albertville. He made the team by finishing second in the National Championships in January behind Christopher Bowman. The third slot went to Todd Elderidge, who was injured at the time. Although the TV talking heads at the Olympic Games made it sound like Wylie had just barely earned a spot on the team, he set the record straight. "It wasn't actually that close. It was much more hype than anything else. There was no way you could say I barely made the team."

Still, no one expected much from Paul Wylie. In the world of figure skating, not being expected to finish near the top almost always ensures that you won't, since the judges seem to give higher marks to people who have earned winning reputations. That may account for Wylie's modest goal going into the competition. "I just wanted to skate well. I didn't have any sort of medal in mind." And, of course, he wanted to erase the memory of the "Fall of 1988".

All those events had set the stage for Paul Wylie's February day of waiting. Schooling. Skating. Salvation. Selection. He dare not even think about Silver. Soon he would take to the ice, wait for the music to begin, and skate a program that would either relegate him to skating anonymity or propel him to skating fame.

But first, that question again. How did Paul Wylie spend his pre-skating time? "I really spent a good time talking with one of my skating buddies about the Lord," Wylie says. "He was a very confused person. He doesn't know what he believes. I said, 'Look at this place. Look at the mountains here. How can you deny that God made them? And how can you say that you don't believe in Him?' We had a discussion about sin and grace, and why it is that I believe. That was a very cherished time."

An unusual way to focus, it might appear- to share first, then shine. But something certainly worked, for all Paul Wylie did that evening was to go out and wow the world. Skating with the flawless grace and precision that his two decades of training had made so natural, he climbed past all the big names but one- including the skater he had been witnessing to during the day. In just 2 minutes, he propelled himself into third place.

And 2 days later, he did it again. Just as he had done in the short program, Paul Wylie stole the show in the long program. Near the end of another clean routine- a rarity at the 1992 skating venue, and something even Viktor Petrenko could not accomplish- Wylie hit his final jumps. All he had to do was finish his program and the silver- perhaps even the gold- was his. The smile on his face and the energy in his skating told the story. Paul Wylie had risen from his Calgary disaster.

The man who just wanted to skate well had captured some precious metal. The only question was how precious.

But still he had doubts, born out of years of competing and understanding how difficult it is to impress the judges. "There were good skaters who came after me. I wasn't sure how the judges would react to me. I was just hoping I would be able to get a medal. I knew it would change my life."

The good skater came, but nobody could test Paul Wylie's mettle or take his medal. Nor could anyone deny him the other two honors he earned at Albertville: The Clairol Personal Best Award, which is based on community service, and the Olympic Spirit Award.

It had been a long wait for Paul Wylie, but in his final amateur competition he received the recognition and respect he worked so long to earn. "It's kind of like Joshua, when God made him wait for the right and last moment before He gave him the victory," Wylie explains. "I don't think it's an accident that time and events made me the complete underdog. They made it impossible for me to become a silver medallist. And then all of a sudden God performed the impossible."

Is it any wonder that on that first day of competition, the eventual silver medallist spend so much time urgently imploring his friend to trust God? Which time was truly Paul Wylie's shining moment?