John's vacation was great fun and then it came time to return home. The hour was late, long past dark, before he began the drive home. The radio was his only companion as he turned onto the road that climbed to the high mountain pass known as Monte Cristo. The lower road would take longer and since it was already late he didn't want to spend any more time than necessary.

Within minutes it began raining lightly. Although July is usually the hottest month of the year, this year it was unseasonably cold. Rain turned to a snowflake here and there and then into a snowstorm with large wet flakes falling heavily upon the windshield. He knew as the car climbed higher that the storm would only intensify. For a moment, he wondered if he should turn back, then drove on.

The road was quickly buried under five inches of pure white snow and he was still several mountain miles from the summit. He knew it would be difficult to keep good traction if the tires were to start spinning so he pressed down on the gas peddle with a steady pressure. With no car tracks ahead of him to follow he relied on his knowledge of the twisting road and kept the car headlights centered between the walls of forest trees to each side of him.

Suddenly, a dark figure came from the forest and stopped in the middle of the road. John hesitantly slowed the car until the headlights revealed a man, perhaps in his early thirties, wearing a sleeveless outdoor vest and no hat. John stopped his car, slightly rolled his window down, and waited for the man to come to the driver's side window.

He asked for a ride, saying he had been hiking for hours and his wife and children needed help. John turned up the heater as he came around to the passenger side. The man sat wearily, still covered with snow, and embraced himself with his bare shivering arms.

The man and his family had been enjoying a weekend outing when bad weather turned the road to mud. With great effort they moved forward only a short distance before they abandoned their trailer and continued on in their truck. After a few miles further, the truck also sunk deep into the red, slick mud and darkness forced them to give up hope of freeing it without assistance. That's when he decide to hike out for help.

Here he was, still twenty or thirty miles from the nearest town, eleven o'clock at night, in the middle of a summer snow storm, and asking if my husband could turn up the car heater. By this time John was sweating heavily and had to tell him the heater was already as high as it could go. He thanked him and spoke about getting home as soon as possible, where he could call family and friends together, and head back to rescue his wife and children. He spoke of the last days and how times and seasons would be changed. He spoke of his fear that wild animals might attack his family and yet said nothing of his own courage to walk through the storm alone, to save his loved ones.

When they arrived at the man's home, he assured my husband that his family and friends would help him and he hurried off to begin phoning. John watched until he safely enter his home, turned off the heater, and bowed his head. This family had a long and difficult night still ahead, and John asked a blessing to be upon them. A shiver went through him as he wondered what would have happened if he had taken the other road, or if he had passed by a minute too soon to have seen him. He gave thanks, for he knew that their meeting was no accident.