In 1978 I was living and working in Massachusetts.  One lunch time, a co-worker and I left the church in a gathering storm. But, snow in New England is like sunshine in Florida, it’s easy to take it for granted. When we got back to the office, my co-workers husband called and queried, “What are you still doing there?  Don’t you know this is a big Nor’easter?”

A quick glance out the window confirmed that a foot of snow had already accumulated. I lived thirty miles from the church, and sighed as I thought it might take twice the normal commuting time to get home.  Tracing several possible routes in my mind, I decided that there was no access to the highway that wouldn’t involve at least one steep hill. The route I chose was almost deserted, and covered in slushy, white snow.  Climbing up the short side of the hill, I breathed a sign of relief for the snow tires that gave me sufficient traction to make it to the wee summit.  On the long downside my car quickly began sliding out of control.  Soon, I discovered the only way down the hill was to turn gently toward the curb, hit it softly, come to a brief stop, and then resume rolling and sliding down the hill only to hit the curb, stop, and slide again.   Soon I joined a long line of traffic moving ever so slowly toward the highway. Snow drifts were taking over the interstate. A thirty minute drive took three terrifying hours, and an unnamed snowstorm became known as The Blizzard of ‘78. 

There’s a lesson here, possibly more than one.  First, that day reminds me of the role chance plays in all our lives. It was chance that the route I chose was passable just at the moment I traveled on it.  By chance I made it all the way home, unlike thousands of motorists who were stranded in snow-covered cars that night. 

There’s another lesson, too, about being ‘out of control.’  Had I been determined to stay in control of how the car made it down the hill by holding to the middle of the road and giving it more gas, I would have come to some bad end. I had to give up my need to be in control in order to make it to my destination. Just so, when I realize I am not in control of the people and the events around me — even though I firmly believe I ought to be in control — then I can begin to make a useful contribution.