“God had a hand in this.” Those who know me live and in person know that I’m not prone to saying things like that. As a general rule, I think that once God has given us the basic tools - a brain, that sort of thing - He pretty much leaves us to figure out the little stuff while He concerns Himself mainly with bigger issues. Nevertheless, Monday night—

When I walked out of Village Hall in Waynesburg, snow was pouring down by the bucketful. As fast as I swept it off the car windows, they would be covered again. It was two blocks from my parking space to the turn-off onto route 171, but even with streetlights, it was snowing so hard that I missed the turn. As I was turning around in a driveway, I saw a car heading onto 171 and knew I could follow his tracks, if not the entire 11+ miles to home, at least part of the way.

But within a half mile, that car had turned off. It was snowing so hard, I hadn’t even realized it was gone. I was on my own. Anyone who has ever traveled that road knows that it’s winding, hilly and in places, banked oddly. There are a few driveway lights, but no street lights. The snow was piling down, swirling, so dense I couldn’t see the end of my car. Ice was beginning to form on the wiper blades. I’ve been driving a long time and have never before had to travel through a storm like that.

I inched along, not always sure I was even on the road. It was not exactly frightening (because I told myself if worse came to worse and I ended up in a ditch, I could always walk to the nearest house) but certainly disorienting. I didn’t dare stop but there were times I wasn’t sure I could keep going forward.

Then, a car would come from the oppposite direction. Its tracks might only be visible for 20 or 30 feet, but that was enough to propel me to keep going.

First, one car. A mile or two later, another. I began to think of them as angels, lighting the way. Again, not my usual train of thought. Maybe six or seven cars came along in the first nine miles. Once I was that far, I knew I could walk the rest of the way home if I had to.

Two miles from my house, I have to cross route 43. As I crept down the hill to the intersection, I noticed a car, stopped in its tracks, in the middle of 43, just a little to the south of the intersection. As I stopped at the sign, it slowly moved forward and turned onto 171, in the same direction I was traveling. Then it occurred to me–that driver was in the same boat, so to speak, as I–waiting for an angel to light the way.

A humbling thought, indeed.