I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. The windshield wipers, caked with ice, left streaks on the glass. Unable to see, I rolled my window down. Snow blew in and spotted my glasses. I reached out. The wiper on the driver’s side swung to the left. I grabbed it and lifted. When I let it go, it slapped against the windshield. The ice shattered and spun away with the wind. The wiper, free of ice and slush, cleared my view. I could see through the window again, but it was of little use. Ahead of me was a white wall of wind driven snow.

The rear wheels lost traction in the deep snow. The back of my car slid to the left. I steered into the spin, regained control, and kept following the road that was now a ski slope. The radio announcer said, “We are in the midst of the worse storm of the season.

Police are advising all motorists to stay off the road.” The news was too late. I was already halfway into my twenty mile drive home.

Houses appeared. They bordered the road on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. The wind ripped across the water and blew the snow horizontally. It was a whiteout. To my left, I saw a flashing yellow light. It was a snowplow, entering the road.

I slowed and let him in front of me. The plow’s pace was slow, but I stayed behind it. I was in no hurry. My family depended on me to get home safely.

We moved forward through the blizzard. The wind picked up the snow the plow pushed aside. It swirled between us. The plow disappeared, even though it was only fifty feet in front of me. I followed blindly, guided by the path – the piles of snow to each side. “Where are you, Plow.” I whispered. “I know you’re there, but I can’t see you.” The winds dropped. The plow’s flashing yellow light appeared and then the plow itself. A few minutes later it was disappeared into the swirling snow again. I knew it was there, but couldn’t always see it. I drove on. My faith never wavered.

An hour later, I turned into my driveway. I sat in front of the fireplace, began to relax and thought about my trip through the storm. I’d followed that plow on faith. My drive was a mini version of my life. I moved forward. Sometimes the road was clear. All was well. The next thing I knew, I was blinded by the storm. God appeared like the plow; my guide.

There are times when you won’t see the plow. Have faith! It will guide you through. God is clearing the way.

Michael T. Smith msmith4@nj.rr.com