It was a midsummer eve, August 18^th, 1955. Stubborn clouds had hidden the sun all day. Night advanced forebodingly. The wind seemed to whistle the warning already heralded in radio reports: "Hurricane Diane is approaching the East Coast."

"Ready to go?" my husband asked as he grabbed the umbrella.

In my heart I wished we could cancel our commitment for the evening. But I knew that excited children were waiting for our program at the Good Shepherd Camp about fifteen miles away. Many of the children came from unhappy homes and this was an opportunity for us to minister to their needs.

"I’m ready," I answered half-heartedly, not wishing to leave the cozy confines of our apartment near Doylestown, Pennsylvania.

The rain had increased its intensity. Driving was hazardous and slow. But we arrived safely at the camp to the warm cheers of the campers.

During the program we had to compete with the relentless pounding of the rain on the chapel roof. But we tried to match the enthusiasm of the boys and girls. Toby, our monkey puppet, and Cho Cho, the dog puppet, acted out their parts oblivious to the storm. Children’s voices sang. Wondering eyes watched. Curious ears listened. Priceless seeds of truth were dropped into attentive hearts.

Mission accomplished, we started for home. The time was nine-twenty. The darkness of the weepy night seemed to swallow us up as we left the well-lit camp. Cautiously we followed the lonely country road. Ditches, once empty, now were filled and overflowing from the steady rain that had been falling all evening.

"This is the right road, isn’t it? I asked apprehensively.

"Yes," Claire assured me. "The Little Neshaminy Creek is just ahead. When we cross the bridge we will have just a few more miles to the highway, and then home."

It could not be soon enough to suit me.

At last the bridge came within the probing lights from our car. But the road leading to it was completely covered with water. The Little Neshaminy had overflowed its banks.

"What are we going to do?" I asked as Claire brought the car to a sudden stop.

"I don’t know. The water does not look too deep. Perhaps we can make it."

The small stone bridge sat well above the stream. Beyond it the ground was higher and above the floodwaters.

"If we can get to the bridge," Claire continued, "we will be all right. Shall we give it a try?"

Without expressing my doubts and fears I leaned forward to watch as my husband inched the car forward.

"Lord, keep us on the road," I silently prayed.

"We must have gone about twenty-five feet, half way to the bridge, when the car engine suddenly began to sputter. Then it gasped and died. Above the pounding of our hearts we heard only the haunting rush of water beneath us and the incessant pounding of the rain above.

The car refused to start. "We’ll have to hurry, Honey. We are going to wade to the bridge," my husband instructed bravely. We removed our shoes. Mine were my favorite red shoes. We placed them on the back seat with our Bibles, puppets and my husband’s accordion. Then, in stocking feet, we stepped into the storm. We shivered. The water was colder and deeper than we had anticipated. My heart panicked as I felt the powerful pull of the water. Had we been foolish enough to release for one moment our grasp on the car, we would have been swept away.

The blackness surrounding us seemed to overshadow our hearts and minds. The despair of a human heart can scarcely be described in such a moment of impending danger.

We re-entered the car to think and pray. My husband put his reassuring arm around me. Could any action on our part possibly save us? The water was rising rapidly. It had reached the doors and was seeping into the car. This was a flash flood. We realized it with increasing terror.

"Let’s get out of here," my husband cried, opening his door. I followed him back into the storm. He helped me onto the hood while he stood beside the car. Instinctively we began to call for help even though there seemed to be no one close enough to hear us. The noise of the storm muffled our cries.

"Look!" I shouted. "Car lights!"

We watched anxiously as a car approached through the darkness. It reached the bridge and stopped. Then, without any sign that he had seen us, the driver turned the car around and disappeared into the night. We had been left alone again with the mad "river".

Suddenly we were aware of lights coming from behind us. A car stopped at the edge of the water. "Help!" we yelled as we saw a man step out of the car. He waved and called, "Hang on. We’ll get help!" His words were barely audible above the wind and rain.

The car quickly backed away. Darkness closed around us again. I trembled on the gray metal beneath me. The water was almost to the handles of the car doors and it was still rising.

"Honey, the car’s moving!" Claire shouted. "Get down quickly!"

I slid into the water beside my husband. His arm went around me as we clung to the handles on the doors. The rear end of the car moved first as if guided by some unseen hand. Then the whole car was in motion, backing into the unknown darkness. Fear gripped my heart. What if the car capsized? What if we were jammed against a tree? What if we were channeled down the ever-deepening creek? What if? What if?

My husband was praying. I joined him. The prayers were not fancy or eloquent, but child-to-Father cries for help. "Dear Lord, there is nothing we can do; we are Your children and You alone are able to save us if it is Your will. Our lives are in Your hands."

Claire reached out to stop a log that had been rushing toward us. There seemed to be dangers all around us. But a wonderful peace flooded my heart.

Without warning the car came to a sudden stop. It had struck a tree. Then, just as quickly as it had stopped, the car slipped away from its mooring and began to drift further into the dark distance.

Another jolt! The car stopped again. We waited breathlessly for it to resume its uncharted course. But this time the car had become lodged between two trees, one against the side of the car (the side opposite from us) and one against the rear bumper. (The next day we discovered that these two trees were the last ones in our path.)

We cannot remember how we made our way from the side of the car to the rear bumper, but we did. The pull of the water on our bodies was getting stronger. It was difficult to move from place to place and still maintain a solid hold on the car. We studied the tree towering high above us, hoping it would offer a measure of safety. It was thin, possibly eight inches in diameter, with only a few branches at the very top.

I struggled to climb onto the bumper, then threw my arms around the tree. Claire followed and, standing beside me, threw his arms around both the tree and me. We braced our feet as best we could in the deep bumper (made differently than they are today) and we prayed for strength to hold on.

The car was settling as it filled with water. The rain continued to beat upon us. The raging stream rose higher until it was flowing over the top of the car. An odd assortment of debris from upstream kept rushing past us, some of it striking our defenseless bodies. A red flower pinned to my dress was snatched away.

Only one Person in the entire universe knew exactly where we were at that precise time. That was our heavenly Father. We knew He had not forgotten us. And we had not forgotten Him. As the deluge of rain continued to descend and as the wind blew its worst, we called out in the midst of the tempest: "Lord, You know where we are. We belong to You. Our lives are in Your hands. Please deliver us if it is Your will."

We rededicated our lives to the Lord. Then we sang the beautiful words of Annie Johnson Flint:

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater;
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercies;
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

His love has no limit; His grace has no measure,
His power has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth and giveth and giveth again.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

With nowhere to go and nothing else to do, we continued to sing:

My heavenly Father watches over me;
Though billows roll,
He keeps my soul,
My heavenly Father watches over me.

The waiting seemed endless. The water was dirty and cold. The air was chilly. The night was boisterous. It was lonely and dark. Then through the rain we saw approaching headlights. A tractor was coming down the road.

"Help!" we shouted. "Over here!"

The lights from the tractor finally struck us. We had been spotted. Our hearts beat with hope. Anxiously we watched as the men began to tie ropes together. But they had under-estimated the distance and had failed to bring sufficient rope. They climbed back on the tractor and left. Again all was dark.

More lights appeared, this time from the bridge. Then a police car. Then, more lights. Then a fire truck. With great precision the firemen and policemen worked together. A spotlight focused on us and a voice addressed us over the loudspeaker: "Will the man and the woman on the car wave if you can hear me?"

Clinging desperately to the tree we managed to wave a response. We almost felt like celebrities in the glare of the lights, though the stage certainly left much to be desired.

"Will you wave again if you can continue holding on?" Again we responded.

"We will do all we can to get to you," a voice blared over the loudspeaker.

The men on the bridge let down a huge rubber raft. Our spirits soared, but just as quickly they sank as we saw the raft bounce out of control, pulling the attached ropes from the hands of the men on the bridge. We watched in despair as the raft disappeared in the darkness down the stream.

More men arrived on the bridge. This time there were navy men in life jackets. Surely rescue was at hand. But even these skilled men were no match for the flood. Any attempt to swim was futile.

"Lord!" we cried, "You are the Master of the storm and You are Lord of our lives. We want to serve You. We really do. Please help us!"

Meanwhile the men with the tractor returned with more ropes. They began to let out a rescue line toward us. The loudspeaker boomed: "If you men over there with the tractor continue to try to rescue the couple you will be in danger of prosecution." Obviously there was great danger involved in what they were doing and they were risking their lives. But, in spite of the warning, the men continued to let out the ropes.

From the bridge rescue attempts also continued. The navy men brought a motor boat with guide ropes attached. A man with a safety rope around his waist climbed into the boat. But no sooner was the boat launched than it began to spin dangerously in the churning waters. It struck the side of the bridge and began to sink. The man fell into the swollen stream but was quickly pulled to safety.

In a moment of despair, and in an attempt to find our own solution, we contemplated letting go of the tree and trying to swim to safety. We finally conceded that it was a foolish impossibility.

Conflicting thoughts bombarded our minds: hope versus despair, trust versus doubt, faith versus unbelief. Our strength was failing and we wondered how much longer we could hold on.

The men with the tractor were working feverishly, especially in view of the failure from the bridge. At last they had enough ropes tied together to reach us. One man began to make his way into the water, grasping the rope securely in his hands and inching cautiously toward us. Closer and closer he came, holding the rope for his life and ours. Then we saw him begin to struggle. Something was wrong. The raging water wrenched the rope from his hands. He grabbed a tree as the stream tried to carry him away. We watched as the man made his way from tree to tree until he reached our car. Now there were three of us. But no rope! Three of us, plus God!

"How can you remain so calm at a time like this?" the man asked, coughing and trying to clear the water from his lungs.

We answered by sharing our faith and telling him of the wonderful presence of Christ our Savior. The Lord Jesus, the unseen One, was right there with us.

It had been approximately ten o’clock when our car was stalled. It was now two-thirty in the morning. Miraculously our watches had continued to work. Our bodies ached. We trembled from exhaustion and the cold.

The activity on the bridge continued. At last the Civil Defense arrived with a large, multi-passenger rowboat. Heavy ropes were attached to it and the boat was let out to us. No one spoke as the boat came closer. Then over the loudspeaker a voice boomed, "Just one person get into the boat at a time. We will make three trips."

I got into the boat first and was pulled to shore. Next my husband was brought in. Then, the other man. Blankets were draped around our shivering bodies. Our clothes were torn. We were taken to a local fire station where they administered first aid and served coffee. Then we were driven by truck over the rain-drenched roads to the hospital where our doctor examined us and further treated our bruises.

At 5:30 A.M.we were driven home. We crawled into our own dry bed, thankful to be alive.

Three-and-one-half months later, the Lord gave us our first baby boy. We could have called him Noah or Moses, but we called him Larry instead. My obstetrician said, "This is a class-A example of what it is possible for a woman to go through and still have her baby." But we say it is a class-A example of what God can do!

Who is Master of every storm? Who can give us grace and strength to face every tempest? Who can deliver us in times of trouble? God! Who else?

                                         THE STORM WILL NOT LAST

Sometimes when afflictions and burdens oppress,
And my skies with clouds are overcast,
And my frail boat is tossed on the turbulent sea,
Jesus tells me that the storm will not last.

The storm will not last,
All the clouds will soon roll past,
For the glory of the Lord is on its way,
Every heartache, every pain,
Like the lightning in the rain,
Will be banished from the sky someday.

Oft-times when the tempest is threatening my soul,
And my heart is burdened down with care,
Through the darkness I see lights of home awaiting me,
And I know there’ll be no storm over there.

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