Four people tell their stories of finding practical help from God

When we woke up in the old tent, my husband, Jim, and I found our backpacks and other camping gear floating around us in two inches of water. Our new collie puppy, Kelsey, snuggled between us, shivering from the rain that had pured down all night in a surprise storm.

Jim and I quickly realized that we had to tear down our camp and pack up so we could hike back to our old four-wheel-drive vehicle, a vintage 1972 Landcruiser, parked a few miles down the trail. The cold rain was coming down unabated. It was late September in California's High Sierra, and this kind of rain was unseasonable. We hadn't come prepared for it. In fact, because we'd brought Kelsey along, we'd taken our oldest, tattered tent in case she tried to chew her way out of it. Now it had become a sieve.

Within a half-hour, we were packed and headed down the trail, which skirted the edges of a small lake. After we reached our vehicle, it silently protested the pouring rain and refused to start. While Kelsey and I huddled and shivered in the front seat, Jim braved the sheets of rain and tinkered under the hood, trying to coax some life into the engine. We were 20 miles from the closest outpost of civilization called Butte Meadows, a tiny settlement at 4,000 feet of a few homes and two rustic restaurants—and any help.

As I sat there in the Landcruiser, I realized that if we had to hike out the 20 miles, darkness would descend on the trail before we could get out of the wilderness. Things looked pretty hopeless, and we were both becoming afraid. Would we have to go through another night, either camped in the ruined tent with the rain pouring in, or huddled here in the car, with the temperature close to freezing? This was a dangerous situation to be in. All our clothes and sleeping bags were totally soaked by now.

The rain battered against the windshield, and I was grateful that at least I was out of the storm and protected in the car. As I thought about our dilemma, I remembered this passage from Science and Health, which describes two ways to view a wilderness. The first is what I had been feeling for the last few hours: "Loneliness; doubt; darkness" (p. 597). That really described how I was seeing our situation out there in the mountains. However, the second part of that passage describes a totally different meaning: "Spontaneity of thought and idea; the vestibule in which a material sense of things disappears, and spiritual sense unfolds the great facts of existence."

I realized at that point that I had a choice. I could focus either on that first concept of this wilderness experience—on the scene before me of doubt and fear. Or I could choose the second concept—the spiritual assurance that God is always present. Even though I had to make an effort to accept this second concept as true, I began to get a calmer feeling, and I prayed to see that God was surrounding all of us in love. Being a photographer, I found it natural to think of God as light. I thought about light dispelling darkness—God's light dispelling my own fears, the "darkness" of the first wilderness described in the passage from Science and Health.

I broadened that line of thought to include our beautiful surroundings. I thought, The rocks, trees, birds, lake are all experiencing God's love. I kept expanding this concept to include all the mountains, our family, everyone. God was everywhere, I realized, and He filled all space with light and love. Right at that moment God seemed so vivid and real to me. There was no need for fear.

I remembered another idea from Science and Health that has always meant a lot to me, and in this instance was the rock I held to. It says, "... cling steadfastly to God and His idea. Allow nothing but His likeness to abide in your thought. Let neither fear nor doubt overshadow your clear sense and calm trust, that the recognition of life harmonious—as Life eternally is—can destroy any painful sense of or belief in, that which Life is not" (p. 495). I determined not to let "fear and doubt" overshadow my trust in God.

As I prayed, I felt calm and peaceful. When I opened my eyes from my prayer, immediately the idea came to me to leave the comfort of the vehicle and walk down the road. Telling my husband that I was off for a walk, I proceeded in the rain down the muddy road.

Five minutes later, I arrived at a three-way junction. Within seconds, I heard the roar of a truck, and flagged it down. The driver turned out to be the nephew of a man who had given my husband a start in the practice of law. He had decided to head into the mountains a week before the opening of deer season to assess the best game trails. He was glad to offer us a ride. On our 20-mile return trip to the outpost, we didn't encounter another human being.

If I had arrived at the road junction mere seconds later or earlier, I would have missed seeing that truck. I truly felt that my prayers had been answered. I felt the clear assurance that God had saved us. By turning away from the grim situation before us, I had been able to open the door to quiet prayer. There I was able to feel the peace and assurance that God was taking care of us. When I trusted in Him first, a safe path out of the wilderness appeared.