The pre-Christmas snowstorm had blanketed a wide patch of rural eastern
Pennsylvania, and Chris Clark Davidson probably should have waited until the
roads were plowed before she, her mother and her two small sons attempted a
drive. But Chris's grandmother lived alone over a hundred miles away, and
couldn't get out to buy groceries. "We'll be fine," Chris reassured her mother.
"We'll take that shortcut that we use all summer."
They found the shortcut, and turned onto it. Chris had forgotten how narrow the
road was, especially with drifts piled high, and wind blowing snow across the
fields. Usually chatting on previous drives, neither woman had noticed how
deserted the area was. When another vehicle roared around a curve, Chris
swerved, and skidded into a snowbank. The other car kept going.
The wheels spun uselessly as she tried to pull out. "Mommy, are we stuck?"
Toddler Phillip asked, from under his blanket in the back seat.
"Looks that way, honey," Chris admitted. They had only seen that one car since
they'd turned onto the shortcut. How long would it be before someone came along?
How long before the freezing temperature invaded the car's interior? And why, oh
why, had she worn SANDALS and pantyhose instead of warm boots?
Chris got out, her feet plunging into a high drift, and looked around. Lord,
please send us some help, she prayed. Then she saw it--a silo and barn roof
peeking up from the hills, about a quarter-mile away. "Mom," Chris leaned in the
car, "I'll walk down to that barn and see if anyone's there. Keep the kids
warm."
The journey was incredibly cold, and by the time Chris pushed open the barn
door, her feet were icy. A welcome blast of heat greeted her, along with the
mooing of heifers in their stalls. It was a working dairy, clean and well
organized, with a shiny window fan circulating the air. Even better, Chris heard
young male voices behind a stall. Maneuvering around fresh manure, she followed
the sound and came upon two farmhands in overalls and flannel shirts, kidding
and teasing each other. They stopped and smiled when they saw her, and quickly
she explained the situation.
"Stay here!" One said, tramping past the cows and out the door. A few moments
later, Chris heard a horn honking in front of the barn. There he was, driving a
blue pickup truck. "Get in!" He shouted. Chris hesitated. She didn't know these
men. And yet there was something so merry about them that she couldn't feel
afraid. She and the other farmhand scrambled into the pickup, and bounced down
the road. There was the car, her toddlers bundled up and Mom waving. The driver
roared across the field, spun in a wide circle and screeched into position in
front of it. "'Way to go!" His buddy yelled.
Chris gripped the seat. "Do you always drive like this?" She asked, only half
joking.
The driver shrugged. "Well, it ain't our truck."
Within minutes, the men had freed Chris's car, and she opened her purse to
reward them. But both backed away. "It was our pleasure, Ma'am. Just drive
safely."
Not like you, Chris grinned as she pulled away. But they had been wonderful
guys.
Chris didn't realize just how wonderful until two weeks later when she and her
mother decided to make a return visit to her grandmother. Since the snow was
almost melted now, the short cut was safer. Soon the silo and barn roof came
into view. "Let's stop and let the guys know we made it to Grandma's that day,"
Chris suggested. But when they pulled up in front, where Chris had climbed into
the blue truck, she could hardly believe her eyes.
For the barn was vacant, shabby, with paint peeling and door hinges hanging
loose. Bewildered, Chris wiped away a heavy film of dirt and cobwebs on the milk
house window and peered inside. Where were the heifers, the floors littered with
fresh manure? Even the fan was rusty. "You couldn't have seen any farmhands or
cattle there," the woman at the next house told Chris. "No one's worked that
property for years."
Chris got in the car. "Am I crazy, Mom?" She asked.
"No." Her mother was firm. "This is definitely the place."
Then how.? Suddenly Chris understood, and like the shepherds at that first
Christmas, she was filled with awe. Her angels had worn blue jeans instead of
white robes. But they had delivered the same timeless message, to her and to
anyone willing to listen:
Fear not. The Savior is here, and He cares about you. Alleluia!
Copyrighted 2000 by Joan Wester Anderson. For more stories of God's love, check
the website at: www.joanwanderson.com
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