How Far?

The snow started just as we set out. Night was approaching, but we'd be fine, we said. We didn't have that far to go. We'd be home soon. We left the city, and set off on the dark country roads.

It was just the lightest of snow at first - fine, small flakes that swirled before us. "This isn't too bad," you said quietly. But now it was dark - pitch dark, so deep the lights of the few farms we passed seemed like stars from some distant galaxy. We were alone.

It wasn't supposed to be so long.

The wind began to rise. The car shuddered as we were battered with it, and I had to grip the wheel and fight to keep us on the road.

"How far yet to go?" I asked. You peered at your phone. "Eighty miles," you said.

Now the snow was falling more thickly, and with every gust of wind the road disappeared, and we were just moving forward in utter darkness, squinting, hoping we were still on the road and not wandering off into nothingness.

The road cleared for a moment, and I could briefly see the edge. I eased to the left. Then the snow swirled around us, and the road was gone.

"How far now?" I asked. I couldn't take my eyes off the road, not for an instant. You peered at your phone again. "Sixty miles to go," you said.

Now we were driving through past fields, with no trees or fences to guide us. The road turned on a long, slow arc, and I slowed down even further to follow it.

No houses; the last town far behind. Once in a while headlights approached from far off, passing slowly. Not a sound in the car, just the swish of the windshield wipers every few seconds. My hands were tight on the wheel. Trees now, hugging the view on both sides. Dark - so dark.

I cleared my throat. "How far now?" A long silence. "Thirty miles," you said.

I thought, then, of the valley in the Bible: the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

There are people on that journey, I thought. People walking dark roads with no end in sight, step by weary step.

I thought of strong hands holding a frail hand by a bedside, and of heads bowed in sorrow. Of people huddled in tunnels while their lives disappear in smoke. Of tanks rumbling through ruined cities. Of the long, dark road we all are walking, struggling to find a way to keep our world alive.

Darkness, silence, another careful curve round a bend. A farmhouse far off in the distance, with one lit window.

A truck approached. I moved over and gritted my teeth as it passed, struggling to stay on the road.

How far? I whispered. No one heard me.

The road stretched on; the darkness seemed impenetrable. We have lost our way.

I began to pray. God, be with us all. Bring us into the light. Bring us home.

We've been on this road forever, I thought. I've been holding this wheel, clenched in this moment forever. The other world: light, relief, hope - it seems like some distant dream.

Then we saw it - far, far off, one small speck of light. "Look!" you said, leaning forward with a sigh of relief. Brighter, now, growing closer: a sign by the road, and then street lights, and suddenly the world was back, welcoming us.

Finally, I thought. We're almost there. They'll open the door and run out to greet us, take us by the hands and lead us into a warm, bright room. There will be food on the table, a soft bed, and we can finally rest.

Perhaps we are all on this dark road. But I have faith that we can find our way through this, if we can only keep going, mile by weary mile.

How far? Not far now, I hope. Not far.