Like my late Dad, I’m pretty much a weather forecast hound–especially in the winter. Unlike a lot of people, I actually enjoy winter. I find it exhilarating and full of adventure when the weather forecasts are considered bad by other people’s standards. Right now, we’re recovering from a beaut of a winter storm and the roads have been a nightmare. Even this storm hasn’t dampened my love for the harsh elements, so I guess I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to winter.

The whole region I reside in goes really bonkers at the slightest hint of an accumulating snow or ice forecast. We mob the grocery stores, descending like vultures to pick the shelves bare of staples like bottled water, bread, milk, and of course, nobody’s going to be snowbound without a load of soft drinks and frozen dinners! I couldn’t even find one can of Wal-Mart tuna left on the shelf!

Usually all this snow forecast shopping hysteria is for nothing, and we wind up getting a dusting of snow to no more than an inch…

But not this time

This time, the forecast was extra bad, with wild predictions of 4, 8, 12 inches of snow, followed by ice and fire-breathing dragons for the area, and everybody really freaked, especially since the weather forecast dire predictions ballooned unexpectedly. For once, I was caught off guard and actually hadn’t shopped for awhile. Our supplies were legitimately low, so off we went on a round of critical errands, leaving home much later than we intended.

Unfortunately, I’d let the errands stack up, and by the time we got to Wal-Mart, it was already snowing.

Now for others, that’s not really a reason to panic, but we live in a rural area and were 50 miles away from home. By the time we got out of Wal-Mart, it was really snowing and the roads were getting covered.

I had pulled out of the parking lot with my heart in my throat, mentally planning the safest route, praying we’d get home safely while driving very carefully. I started up a hill, lost all traction, spun and slid into a guard rail.

Thank God, neither Mom nor I was hurt. Thank God I hadn’t hit another car or living thing. I jumped out of the Suzuki to inspect the damage, which was considerable, to the front bumper on the driver’s side. The adage about never leaving the scene of an accident whisked through my mind, but it hit me that I’m blocking the road and another vehicle could very likely slide into our Suzuki and cause far greater damage, and not just to us. I also remembered that I’d just dropped down to nothing but state required liability only car insurance, and there was utterly no point in contacting the police or the insurance company. The guard rail certainly didn’t care whether I called the cops, either, so I popped back in the Suzuki, thankful and shaken, backed up, and drove to a side street to call Husband John.

Husband John lives and works in town all week and rarely comes home mid-week, but I was fervently hoping he’d make an exception, meet us and drive us the 50 miles home.

I informed Husband John about the demise of the bumper and told him nobody was hurt. I asked his advice about putting the Suzuki in 4 wheel drive, a function with which I’m not familiar. He advised me that 4 wheel drive on the Suzuki must be done only if the pavement was wet or snow/ice covered, otherwise it automatically reverts with a resounding WHUMP to normal drive. He also said I couldn’t drive over 40 m.p.h. in 4 wheel drive without throwing the Suzuki into a spin. I don’t know what fool would drive over 40 m.p.h. in those conditions anyhow, so the speed wasn’t a problem.

Facing a 50 mile drive home with my ailing elderly Mother, deteriorating road conditions and the unfamiliar 4 wheel drive function, I was purely terrified. I started to say something about if I never talked to Husband John again, but he interrupted me, assuring me he’d get home to run the wood furnace and keep the place warm.

So much for chivalry. I said goodbye and hung up.

Thank God, next to the side street was an empty parking lot. I put the Suzuki in 4 wheel drive, with the car moving and cussing me in shrieks because I did it wrong, so I stopped the car and tried again. That time the 4 wheel light popped on. I hesitated, then decided to practice a bit before getting back on the road.

The Suzuki held ground without slipping, so Mom and I prayed, then started another direction to get away from the hill from Hell.

We crept toward the interstate exchange, my mind filled with worry that we’d never get home alive, but the Suzuki still firmly held the road.

The interstate exchange was a parking lot, with everybody inching along at 1 m.p.h. between nearly constant stops, and everyone showing each other more courtesy than I’ve ever seen. I worried about getting on the highway from the entrance ramp in that solid wall of vehicles, but the drivers gently made way for each other. I had no problem getting on the exchange.

We finally made the main interstate, where the traffic was actually moving, usually at rates far faster than I dared. Every other thought was a jabbing reminder to hold my speed below 40 m.p.h. to keep from spinning out.

That turned out to not be a problem since I was too terrified to drive over 30. Most of the time, I drove 25 m.p.h., with the Suzuki holding beautifully. Most of the other drivers passed us, and I couldn’t decide whether they were just more experienced in driving on snow covered roads or were just too stupid to slow down.

I think it was the latter

The visibility was horrible. I couldn’t see the lane markings. Snow was pelting down and the windshield wipers were starting to freeze, clacking instead of swooshing across the glass. Every time a semi-truck whizzed by, my heart went a little higher in my throat and I reminded Mom to pray, as if she needed reminding. I started to wonder if I’d make it home without wetting my pants. We had tea with us, but neither of us dared take a drink.

Finally our exit signs were in sight, but by then I couldn’t tell where the shoulder was and where the exit was. I accidentally was driving on the shoulder for a bit, thinking I had exited, and when we did make the actual exit ramp, it was like driving in a snow tunnel. The road sides were no longer visible, and when we turned onto the state road for the last 8 miles home, things got bad.

The whole world had changed to snow; it seemed as if we were trapped inside a snow globe. The visibility was nearly zero, and the state road home I thought I knew so well, with its steep banks having been swallowed in snow, was now a threat to survival. Not one tire track marked the road; not one car passed us.

I poked along, driving in what I hoped was the middle of the road, fighting panic and nervous exhaustion, thinking I couldn’t make it any more, but God had no intention of leaving us alone without His help. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, there were footprints. I began watching them as I drove, trying to decide whether they were human or animal. I found myself not following the road so much, but following the footprints.

For miles, it seemed, the footprints went on and on, mostly staying in the middle of the road, and I used them as a guide to stay safely on the road, away from the dangerous banks. I finally decided they were animal footprints, and they continued until we reached a section where I could better recognize the road.

We drove on, the windshield wipers becoming more and more frozen as they thumped back and forth, and I began searching for the final turn on the road home. I realized I wouldn’t be able to see the turn, so I slowed down even more and rolled down the window, and hung my head outside, looking for our turn off.

At last it appeared, and I carefully turned into the snow clogged back road home and put the Suzuki in low range. We crept over the hill, my mind hurtling back to the time my Dad nearly wrecked his station wagon on that same hill in far better conditions than this, but the Suzuki didn’t slip at all.

Once over that last bad hill, Mom and I breathed enormous sighs of relief and thanked God profusely, knowing we’d make it home, safe and alive. We drove the last few miles in low range, and the snow had lessened a bit, with the visibility improved, on those last precious miles.

After we were home, still thanking God, I called Husband John to tell him we arrived. He confessed he’d been really worried, and I bit back the urge to tell him that I’d noticed he hadn’t worried enough to meet us and help us get home. Some words are better left unsaid.

The trip home took three hours; normally it’s an easy one hour drive. The Suzuki’s bumper, in stark daylight the next morning, looked really hideous, like Godzilla had gotten hungry for Suzuki bumper and had taken a giant bite out of the driver’s side. I felt sick, seeing it up close the first time, then grateful, as I remembered how God had protected us and the other drivers from a real accident that could have badly injured someone. A bumper feels no pain, no matter how mutilated it gets.

I kept thinking about those mysterious animal tracks, how they were placed in a section of road where I would have had the most trouble staying on the road in almost no visibility. The human mind cannot really comprehend just how awesome God’s protecting power really is, and how He can use the simplest things to accomplish such great feats.

We’ve vowed never again to take a chance and go out on the same day a dire winter storm is forecast, but despite the terror and the ruined bumper, I’m still glad it happened. I learned a valuable lesson from this: As much as I love winter, I love the Lord a whole lot more. Praise His Name!