This winter, blizzards have stranded travelers in airports, trapped motorists, and triggered at least one avalanche that buried cars on a Colorado roadway. The season has also proved fatal for several mountain climbers.

Technological advancements such as cellphones and global positioning satellites contribute to safe travel, adding to the successes of dedicated road crews and search and rescue teams. And reports of stranded motorists in my home state of Oregon prompted local TV and radio stations to broadcast safety tips. But not even all these tips, technologies, and heartfelt efforts guarantee our safety.

Several millennia ago, David sang this prayer: "Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God" (Ps. 20:7). He was living in a far distant place and time, and his safety issues were different. But his prayerful means of dealing with the many crises he faced have not lost their practicality. As a shepherd boy, he fought off dangerous animals. When King Saul sought to kill him, he survived in the wilderness. Later, after he himself became king, David had to flee from his traitorous son, Absalom.

David turned to God because he knew that the ways of men—of horses and chariots—couldn't save him. A striking and familiar example was the time, as a youth, he stood up to Goliath. In response to the giant's taunts, David replied, "Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts" (I Sam. 17:45). David defeated Goliath and saved the Hebrew army, the very army then led by King Saul.

David prayed right there on the field, declaring that he came in the name of the Lord. Name, among other qualities, refers to the nature or inherent character of a person or thing—its essence. Could it be that to David, praying meant remembering the nature of God?

This nature in David's time, as illustrated in the Old Testament, was often seen as physical force, represented by people's deliverance from their many enemies in battle. Yet in the New Testament, Jesus illustrated God's love as an unseen power that saved multitudes from sin, sickness, and from death. Yet Jesus dealt with severe weather as well. One time a storm threatened to sink his ship in the middle of the Galilean sea. According to Mark's Gospel, "[He] rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased" (see Mark 4:36-40).

Jesus introduced God as a loving presence to call on in any situation. And each of us can pray as he did, be the need at hand to prevent dangerous storms, to calm them, or to be kept safe through them. A study of Science and Health illumines the character of God as Spirit, and clarifies our protective relationship with God as His very expression. Throughout the book, Mary Baker Eddy emphasized the reality of an all-knowing and everloving God.

When bad weather hits, we don't need to tell God about our situation; God made all and declared it good (see Gen. 1). We don't need to persuade divine Love to keep us safe—Love cannot do otherwise. We don't need to change anything, because God's intelligence is all that operates. Nor must we of necessity fear a storm's apparent power. The fact remains that it's powerless to prevent God from keeping His loved children safe, even in the middle of it.

In order to pray effectively, however, we do need to turn away from the human scene long enough to remember the nature of God.

A few years ago, I planned a snow-camping trip to Crater Lake National Park with a few friends and my 12-year-old son. We traveled by skis, pulling sleds. During our final two days out, it snowed steadily, accumulating over two feet—a good amount to have to break trail in! That last night, I became worried, wondering if we should leave as scheduled.

Ours was not a life-threatening emergency. We had extra supplies. We had built solid shelters—an igloo and a snow cave. The park rangers knew our general location. But that didn't mean that navigating and skiing in the storm would be easy or advisable. I'd wake up and worry. On the one hand, it might be wise to wait out the storm. On the other hand, if we didn't show up when expected, it could cause concern to the park authorities and especially to our families.

At 3:00 a.m. I woke up again. Inside the thick walls of the snow cave, all was quiet. I crawled outside, only to be pummeled by wind and driving snow. The storm hadn't let up, and I crawled back into the cave. In my mind I kept replaying the same information. Our skiing ability. The difficulty of breaking trail in new snow. But, perhaps most important, the uncertainty of our exact location and the best route to take. I kept rechecking my barometer to see if it predicted the storm's end—forgetting all the while to first "call on the name" of God and remember His immediate presence.

Then these words from Science and Health came to me: "Hold thought steadfastly to the enduring, the good, and the true, and you will bring these into your experience proportionably to their occupancy of your thoughts" (p. 261). That calmed my racing thoughts. Repeating that passage brought me comfort. But I realized that I also needed to do as that passage directed: Think only about "the enduring, the good, and the true," which I realized meant thinking about God and His totally spiritual nature. So I did.

My prayers usually begin with thinking about God in a specific way, and in this case I thought about how God is Love. I thought about what this name Love reveals about His nature. I reasoned that since God is the author of all, He must govern everything carefully, lovingly—down to the detail. What I remember most was getting a deep-down certainty of God's love for everyone in that cave, and of His desire and ability to deliver us from the storm.

Restless thoughts tried to sneak back in, but as I continued to think about the loving nature of God and His creation, I began to truly realize and feel God's ability—and desire—to keep His creation safe. And I tangibly felt His love for each one of us.

Then came this thought, "Good will greet us in the morning." I don't normally use that type of language, so I took it as a divine message. The need to plan out what to do disappeared. Satisfied and reassured, I even prayed with conviction about some pressing world issues. Then I fell asleep.

It was still snowing hard at daybreak, but the wind had lessened and the visibility had improved, revealing dark shapes of trees across the clearing. My son and a friend played in the snow. It seemed natural to leave. We never even discussed the matter. After breakfast, we packed up and broke camp. Using a compass and altimeter, we easily hit the main trail, and after a demanding ski in deep snow arrived safely at the parking lot—right on schedule.

I continue to practice some of those spiritual safety tips I gained in my prayers that night: Quit fixating on the disturbing appearances as if they're the reality. Focus instead on the immediate power and presence of God. Refuse to be distracted by what's going on around you. Above all, be meek. Stop thinking, "I have to figure this out." Trust the entire outcome to God.

I know people face situations every day more severe than the one we faced on that snow-camping trip. But whatever the circumstance, this same promise holds true: "Thou [God] wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee" (Isa. 26:3). Remembering God's real nature—and calling on His name—we can help ourselves, our loved ones, and our neighbors not only through bad weather but through whatever kind of storm we face. |css