So there we were, hand brake fully ON yet sliding and slipping down the narrow lane, ever closer to the police car blocking the path to the previous car who spun out of control on the suddenly appearing ice at the bottom of the lane. “STOP!!” I cried in futility. There was nothing to be done. No words. No actions. Just trust and waiting. And sliding. The car did stop and we then had to figure out what to do next. The police had closed the road (sadly, after we started down it) and told us to turn around and take another road. Turning around on a hill in a one lane road in the dark in an unfamiliar car (forget that we haven’t driven a stick shift in years and it is on the opposite side anyway) with a vehicle packed with people including a very hungry, very vocal baby. Interestingly, during the time it actually took my husband to determine our best course (back very slowly up the lane into a gate and turn around) the baby was completely silent, as if he knew our collective well being was on the line (the chocolate coin from Chatsworth might have helped). Naturally prayers for our safety were uttered and we asked for clarity and guidance and lo and behold another car came whizzing down the lane behind us but stopped before it got to us or the ice therefore turned around and literally showed us the way with their headlights. Then we got turned around and gingerly picked our way up the lane back to the teeny village not knowing exactly the safest path to take. There again, we met another policeman, sent to block another road who good naturedly asked if we had a lot of weather like this in California and then told us the best best was to drive all the way back into the Sheffield town center then back out on another road. Think of a wheel with spokes, we were to drive down one spoke to the very center then out another spoke to our part of town.
Hello snow & Ice!
We were very joyful to arrive home safely. I felt like kissing the ground but fearing falling flat on the ice decided a grateful outpouring of thanks for cool heads, helping policemen, passing motorists, calm passengers and an ex Lt. Col. tank commander driving the car. Funny how a “near miss” always reminds you of the daily gratitudes: hand brakes that matter, driving without fear, coming home at the end of the day without mishap. I am grateful for the instant guidance and calm that came to each one of us in different ways. Mama gave baby a chocolate coin to play with to entreat silence, grandma had the utmost faith in “the Military” and stated this precisely at the right moment, I knew the instant my husband’s voice changed to “command mode” I just had to follow instructions (“Put your head out the window and tell me when to turn!!!”). Thank you Jesus. Thank you Holy Spirit. Thank you dear brilliant husband who turned around a desperately tricky situation. Joy really is living.
