Help us, Keep us, Carry us

Doesn't this snowy view look pristine? I stood outside of my door this morning and reflected on the beauty of the sky, the sun reflecting off the purity of the whiteness.  I reflected also on the small little fact that as of 7 o'clock last evening I wasn't entirely sure that I would ever see this view again--or anytime soon at least.

You see, yesterday afternoon I sat at my parent's kitchen table in NJ, saying things like "Well, if I leave by 3, I'll be home by 7...." as the rain sputtered gently onto the windows nearby.  It seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan, with no foreseeable drama.

No foreseeable drama, that is, until I was still in my car at 7, battling for my life.  Turns out that the rain falling sweetly in NJ was at the same time snow swirling ferociously in Pennsylvania.  Turns out that Route 80 was a hotbed of ice and a pathway of un-plow-ed-ness.  Turns out: I was traveling on a haven for cars more comfortable in ditches and for drivers who enjoy the adventure of spin-outs.

I'm sorry I have no pictures for you dear readers, but I was just a bit preoccupied.

It turns out that I am not of the type who say "Maybe I should get off this road, find a nice hotel to curl up in until the storm has passed".  It turns out that I am about as stubborn as they come.  My mentality is?

I do not give up, even when it's difficult.

Even when I'm about to vomit out of absolute terror.

And then--as is true in most of life--at a certain point, even if one wanted to give up, there is no turning back.  The exit ramps hold stranded cars and jack-knifed tractor trailers.  Moving out of the lane straight ahead of you becomes a moment of slidden defeat.  All you can do is go ahead.

Calling on the name of Jesus.   A LOT.

Now, I know that there is power in the name of Jesus.  I have watched that power at work in the invisible storms of life in amazing ways.  And I figure: If Jesus's power is available to me in what I cannot see, then you'd better believe He is with me in the midst of a snow squall that is all but blinding me.

And so: As I maneuvered my car up a hill through a littering of stalled and precariously placed vehicles, I said, out loud for all to hear:

Jesus! Help us, Keep us, Carry us.

And I didn't stop saying it for the next 2 hours.

I only paused for interjections of "Jesus, you are with me!"s 

and shouts of "Surround that truck with ANGELS!"

(By the way, if you were looking for angels last night, I apologize.  They had all been summoned to the middle of Pennsylvania by yours truly, and I don't take no for an answer.)

Now, I don't think God needed me to repeat this two-hour long litany.  More than anything, I just needed to remind myself that He was there, and that I was driving in His power, as His beloved child.  I needed to be reminded of that because--I am not ashamed to tell you--It. Was. Not. Fun.

Up until the moment I pulled into my driveway, I literally did not know if I was going to make it there.  And when I did get there? I turned the car off, and allowed myself to breathe.  Allowed my muscles to relax (aka: shake).  Called the people who had been checking in on me, to whom I had rudely replied "Can't talk! I'm hanging up! Pray!"

I got into my house, and stood in the middle of the floor in some kind of shock, thinking "Am I really here?"  I took a warm shower.  I climbed into my bed.

I laid there, staring at my curtains, thinking: Am I really seeing these?

And I could not believe that I was.

As I laid there and allowed it to all sink in, I realized something that I have been needing to realize for awhile now.  I realized that--sometimes--those invisible storms of life are terrifying.  Sometimes you don't know whether to get off the road or move out of your lane.  Sometimes all you can do is go ahead, with every muscle braced, your hands being bruised by your grip on the steering wheel, unable even to talk to the people who care.  BUT. You have been put in the driver's seat by a God who is with you at all times, through all things.  He is a God who holds power to help, power to keep, power to carry. He is a God who has equipped you with the wisdom of how to maneuver safely in the snow, between the wreckages around you. He is a God who will bring you safely home, where the view is pristine.

But most of all, He is a God who Is.  And--thanks be to God--I don't need to remind myself of that in order for it to be true.