There were times it was difficult to see him, even though he stood only a few feet away from me. In the darkness and intermittently blinding snow, it seems now that what I remember most was his voice which could be heard shouting to my brother above the howling wind. We were paused at the top of the first hill, having climbed a 6 to 8 foot snow drift deposited by the windy blasts in the middle of the road that had been closed for days. On the other side of the drift, we found a patch of bare, icy ground. Such was the random aftermath of lake effect squalls that had suddenly sideswiped our northern New York region. Over the past few days, the storm had shrieked up to 50 miles per hour or more and dropped 6 feet of snow in places.

But the weather wasn’t finished with us yet. Snow, wind, subzero wind chills, and substantial drifting continued, closing all roads and leaving us and our rural neighbors stranded. My grandfather, a dairy farmer, was forced to start “dumping milk” because the milk trucks were unable to reach his farm tucked away on the northeast slope of the Tug Hill plateau. Dairy cows must be milked twice a day- morning and evening- and with no outlet for the milk tank, it was growing dangerously full. Other farmers were facing the same dilemma- essentially pouring their incomes down the drain. My grandfather had summoned any neighbor who could navigate the journey. His small farm was a mere mile from our home and it was our habit to buy fresh milk and eggs from him a few times a week. Days ago, my father and brother had already made the 2 hour trek through the blizzard to the farm and back to retrieve milk. The nearest store, a mile in the opposite direction, was equally inaccessible with no guarantee that the product would have made it to the shelf.

We didn’t know when the roads would be open again or when the storm would abate. If you’ve never lived through a natural disaster it is hard to imagine that you could be cut off from food, home, and modern comforts so quickly and without a promise of a quick fix. It would prove to be one of the most memorable storms in many decades for those of us who lived through the blizzard of 1977. Much has been published about the event from the perspective of people living in or around larger cities. But in the foothills of the Adirondacks, the communities tacitly battled against the elements without much fanfare.

After the first milk run a few days before, it was decided that it would be easiest to pull the large glass milk bottles on a sled rather than trying to carry them, and it was my job to ride in the sled and hold the bottles steady. I had just celebrated my 8th birthday a month earlier. Wearing snowmobile suits, heavy mittens, and layers of clothing, Dad, my older brother, and I headed out with Dad pulling me and the empty milk jugs in a plastic sled.

Today my father can recall many details of this trip with vivid specification. Enormous snow drifts that were over his head in places had been blasted down to bare ground a few feet away by the relentless wind leaving an unfamiliar landscape. We were traveling in the early evening winter darkness, and at times he was able to see the well-known route fairly clearly. Then a lake effect gale would roar across our path and he would stand still for several minutes trying to see lights from the familiar houses so he could get his bearings in the blinding snow. My dad is a pretty determined man and was fit for the task, but it may seem hard to understand now why he would go through with such a difficult journey, especially with his children in tow. We were not completely sheltered from life’s tragedies but in turn, we had learned implicit trust in my father’s guidance. He simply took care of his family, day after day.

I am amazed at how little I remember from this epic trip. As I said, I remember his voice, raised over the wind, talking to my brother as they determined our location and direction from the familiar points they were able to find along the way. From my vantage point, sitting in the sled he was pulling, I have a memory of the back of his black snowmobile suit bent into the journey as the gusts blew a screen of snow between us. I remember the top of the tallest hill where Dad stood under the outdoor mercury light near an old barn to catch his breath and get his bearings. I can still remember the warmth and light in the milk house, the smell of the cows nearby, the conversation between my father, grandfather, and uncle as the pitcher was dipped into the milk tank to fill our jugs. I remember there being a discussion about all of us riding in the sled on the way home because it was mostly downhill in that direction… but I don’t remember if we actually tried to do that.

What I remember most was that I was not worried.

I did not fret about whether we would find our way. I did not for a minute entertain the thought that we would freeze in a snowbank to be recovered in the Spring. I don’t mean that I put it out of my mind and focused on the positive. I mean that it just didn’t occur to me even though I remember hearing news reports of people stranded in various places because of the storm. I knew there was some danger involved, that frostbite could happen, but largely, I believed that my father could handle whatever came our way and that he would not allow disaster to overtake us. It should, perhaps, be mentioned that as a police officer who ran and lifted weights in his spare time, he truly was prepared for this situation.

The simplicity of my trust in him causes me to pause. I was fortunate to have a father that never left me wondering if he would take care of me. I realize now what a blessing that is.

If only I would think of God in that way.

Instead, I seem predisposed to meet every one of life’s challenges with a fresh rush of anxiety and relentless contriving to relieve my anguish.

This, despite having read the following dozens of times: “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” – Jesus (John 16:33, ESV); “When he calls to me, I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble;” – (Psalm 91:15, ESV); “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” – Jesus (John 14:27, ESV); “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” – James (James 1: 2-3, NIV).

And this one: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” -Jesus (Matthew 7:11, ESV).

Maybe I don’t trust God because I don’t really know Him. I had complete trust in my father, who had proven in the eight years of my life that he would and could do what he set out to do and he was able to take care of my brother and me. This is the reason that I, who remembers everything- as my family says, do not recall this event with the sharp retentiveness of someone who has lived through a perilous event. Because in my eight year old mind, my father had it under control and we were not in peril.

Maybe it is through the storms of life- when you and I are actually willing to put away our distractions- that we can actually begin to know the character of God in a way similar to the way I trusted my father. We are not immune to tragedy, sickness, discrimination, devastation, loss, misunderstanding, addiction, death… Even though there may not be an immediate end to the storm, there can be peace in the midst of it. For those of us who are willing to follow our Heavenly Father into the midst of the storm, we may find that we can hear His voice above the shrieking tempest: “Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.” (Isaiah 41:10, MSG).

I have no idea what kind of blizzard you may be trying to get through in your life today. But rest assured, if you are a child of God, you can trust His words.

He’s got this. And there will be peace.

Copyright February 2022, Sandra Jantzi