January 13, 2006

Rope to the Barn

One glace at the western sky told him all he needed to know.  Blizzard coming.

Leaping to the front porch of the farmhouse Nick ducked inside to grab a coil of rope.  Why hadn’t he done this sooner?  Slamming the front door he hurried to a porch post and lashed one end of the rope to it.  Jumping to the ground he landed in two feet of snowfall from the previous night.  Pushing through one drift after another he made a beeline for the barn.

Nick’s mind raced.  How fast could he do the job?  Fifty minutes?  Forty tops.  Could he finish before the storm hit?  What if he skipped the cleaning and just focused on essentials.  Food, water, protection.  But milking—he’d have to do the milking.  A Manitoba snowstorm could last for days.  The livestock were Nick’s livelihood.  They must be cared for.  In 1930’s rural Canada he had little else. 

Reaching the barn, Nick tied the other end of the rope to the door.  One last glance over his shoulder confirmed his fears.  The storm was about to break.  The first flakes were flying.  The gathering gale bent trees in unnatural angles.  Wind whipped snow into drifts resembling ocean waves. 

Charging through his chores Nick could hear the walls creak and rafters moan from the external assault.  He cared for the animals in record time.  But was there enough time to get home?  Back at the barn door he braced himself.  Stepping outside, Nick’s face froze.  But not from the biting wind.  The world outside had gone blank.  Complete whiteout.  No visibility.  No sky, no trees, no yard, no farmhouse.  Just swirling, impenetrable white. 

Reaching for the rope tied to the barn door Nick grasped it firmly in both hands.  As he stepped away from the barn the force of the wind nearly knocked him off his feet.  Clinging to the rope for support he forced one foot in front of the next.  Ice crystals stung his face.  So he closed his eyes and concentrated on walking.

Then it happened.  He slipped and fell losing hold of the rope.  Instantly the wind whipped the rope into the air and it vanished from sight.  Nick waited, but the rope didn’t reappear.  Afraid to go forward, Nick stayed on his knees and started crawling back to the barn.  He tried to follow the tracks he had made, but before long his trail disappeared—covered by snow and wind.  Still he pushed on.  The barn didn’t appear.  Discouraged, Nick abandoned the barn idea and turned in the direction he though was home.  Getting to his feet he fought the wind to walk.  He walked and walked.  How far had he come?  How long had it been?  Ten minutes?  Twenty?  An hour?  He didn’t know.

With a full force blizzard blowing, Nick couldn’t see past the end of his hand.  Highly dangerous.  Nick had heard the stories.  Farmers who died in blizzards.  Disoriented by a whiteout they got lost in their own yard wandering in circles never finding their way home.  Sometimes they froze within feet of their own front door, never knowing how close they were because they couldn’t see it.

With rising panic Nick dropped to his knees.  His fingers numb.  His body exhausted.  His will spent.  He started feeling sleepy.  His mind told him to rest.  Maybe lie down for a bit.  But Nick knew that would be the end.  Silently, desperately he prayed for help. 

Then, over the howl of the wind, he heard something.  An occasional thumping sound.  He crawled toward it.  The thump was directly in front of him.  Reaching in the direction of the sound, the rope slapped the snow next to his hand.  He grabbed it.  Relief flooded his heart.

Pulling himself up he clung to the rope and started walking.  He didn’t stop until he felt his hand bump against the post of the house.  Gratefully Nick released his lifeline and scrambled onto the porch.  Inside a hot fire and warm food awaited him.  He was home.

Ever experienced a blizzard before?  Not a cold Canadian one perhaps, but a perilous personal one?  Household disintegrating...Creditors calling...Addiction overwhelming...Job degrading?  Storms of trouble can blow in unexpectedly and catch you off guard.  You can easily become disoriented and lost in the blinding confusion of a crisis.  But there’s hope.  In the midst of the storm is a rope you can hold to.  A lifeline you can cling to.  Yahweh.  God.  The prophet Isaiah called him “a refuge from the storm” and a “shelter...from the storm and the wind.” *

The purpose of your lifeline?  To guide you and support you through the storm.  And ultimately to lead you home.

“God's your Guardian, right at your side to protect you…he guards your very life.”  Psalm 121:5-7 MSG

*Isaiah 25:4 NASB;  Isaiah 32:2 NLT

Todd Chobotar
Mission Development
Florida Hospital