The song writer claims that “it never rains in southern California”, but either out of negligence or deceit, he never deals with the issue of snow. My brother and I were about to become better qualified on that subject as the Christmas break of ’73 was drawing to a close.

We were driving the interstates from our home near the shores of a frozen Lake Erie to the normally sun-drenched campus of Los Angeles Baptist College. All along the way we had dodged major snowstorms and blizzard conditions. That is, until we crossed the Arizona state line. There we started to pick up the LA radio stations which were all warning their listeners about an approaching snowstorm, a true novelty in a city that thrives on the unconventional. As the temperatures dropped, the pancake engine in our ’67 VW fastback (the name had more to do with the style than the actual top speed) pumped just enough heat into the cabin to ward off frostbite.

Then the flakes began to fly. Even the all-music-all-the-time stations injected public service announcements about chain requirements and road closings between songs. We finally turned the radio off and listened to a John Denver tune, “Take Me Home, Country Roads”. But there was no turning back.

When the highway became snow-covered and the road lines disappeared, we used the marker posts along the shoulder to calculate the location of our lane. Then we discovered that a semi somewhere up ahead was blazing the trail for us. We just stayed in his tire ruts which we trusted would take us into LA.

I think it was Jon who first noticed that the truck driver seemed to be getting further and further away from the marker posts. Decision time. Do we stay with the guy who we assumed had a better view and years of experience driving this road, or trust the engineer who laid out the markers? We decided to navigate by the markers.

Just a few miles later we passed our trailblazer off to our left, firmly embedded in a snowdrift. Our parents’ prayers for our safety were answered once again. Eventually one of those marker posts bore a hand-printed cardboard sign proclaiming the sale of snow-chains for a whopping $5. But that’s another story…

Sometimes life’s journey takes us into white-out conditions. We’ve never been this way before and we’re not even sure where the road is. To our relief we discover a trailblazer and we follow in his or her path. Our generation is blessed with many such leaders. Their radio and TV programs and books and websites give us direction and encouragement.

But even the best of the best can drift one way or the other, to their own undoing and those that blindly follow them. It’s the markers laid out by the One who designed the road that will take us safely through. King David never drove an interstate in a blizzard but he knew the necessity of constantly checking his position with God’s standards. He wrote, “My eyes are continually toward the LORD, for He will pluck my feet out of the net.” (Psalm 25:15)

Have you checked those heavenly markers today? You’ll find them in your Bible. Start in the book of Proverbs. Take a few minutes to get yourself realigned and into the center of His path.

Blessings,