Written and preached by David P. Nolte
EXODUS 2:23-3:7
It was near quitting time but Jack Sullivan was crawling into a 10-foot-deep-trench that ran down the center of Washington Street in West Roxbury, Massachusetts. He wanted to finish one part of his job before he left. In the trench he could feel the vibrations of the cars and trucks and occasionally a pebble would break loose from the side of the trench and fall into it. Jack paid no attention to them. It was his job to weld the joints of a new water main both inside and out. After completing the inside of the joint, he crawled out of the pipe to weld the outside. He stood up to get the kinks out of his legs. Suddenly the bank caved in. Tons of dirt came crushing down on him. Jack was rammed against the pipe and he went down, buried in a kneeling position, his shield slammed against the pipe, his nose flattened against the inside of the shield. He felt his shoulder burning against the red-hot section of pipe he had been welding. He tried to move it back from the pipe, but he couldn't. And he couldn't move his head. He tried calling. Three times he shouted. The sound of his voice died in his shield. He tried to breathe slowly to preserve the supply of oxygen. It crossed Jack's mind that he might die. He began to pray, "God, send someone." Crushed under the burden of oppressive tyranny, Israel felt squelched and overwhelmed. They, too, felt hopelessly trapped and crushed.
Jack prayed. He was buried alive but he wiggled his fingers and found they moved freely. His right hand had not been buried. He tried to scratch around with his hand to open up an air passage but the weight of the earth was too great. Then he remembered that he had been holding the welding lead in that hand. He grasped it tightly and moved it, hoping the rod would strike the pipe. Suddenly his wrist jerked and he knew he had struck an arc that would make a bright orange flash. So he kept on tapping the pipe, making an arc, hoping it would draw attention. He hoped the gasoline in the engine-driven welder would last until dark when the orange arc might draw attention, but darkness wouldn't fall until nearly nine o'clock. He thought of all the hundreds of people passing within a few feet of him. He thought of his family and wondered if he would ever see them again. He figured there wasn't anything to do but lie there and wait and keep tapping flashes, and hope and pray, "God, send someone." A few miles away, out on Route 128, Tommy Whittaker had quit his work for the day. He and Jack were best friends. Tommy got in his truck and started down Route 128 with the full intention of driving directly home but as he drove, he began to have the feeling something wasn't right. He tried to shake the feeling but the strange sensation grew. He thought that he ought to drive up to the Washington Street job and check it, then dismissed the idea. It meant driving six miles out of his way at the peak of rush hour. Tommy approached the intersection of Washington and Route 128. Suddenly he turned. Meanwhile, Jack continued to pray, "God, send someone." Tommy drove along Washington Street and stopped at a spot several blocks away from the cave-in. He chatted with an engineer for a few minutes, but the anxious sensation did not leave him. As the cry of Israel continued, God was moved and felt the burden they bore.
It was 5:45, and Jack struck more arcs and kept praying, "God send someone!" A little way down Washington Street, Tommy got into his truck, but the gnawing sensation grew stronger. He reached his turnoff to get back to Route 128. He hesitated a brief instant, then continued up Washington. Jack finally gave up striking the arc. Just at that moment, Tommy arrived at the spot where his friend was lying. Nothing seemed unusual. He noticed the stake-body truck, he noticed the welder was running. He thought someone was inside the pipe, welding. Still nothing struck him as unusual. Then Tommy saw the hand and saw it move! He jumped down into the trench and dug frantically with his hands. The earth was too packed. He scrambled out of the trench, shut off the welder and raced across the street to a garage. Jack heard the engine of the welder stop. He began to prepare to die. He knew it was over. Tommy shouted to the men in the garage to send for help. He raced back to the trench, carrying a shovel, still not knowing it was his friend buried there. Tommy began to dig, moved by the plight of the buried man. As he cared, so God cares!
Tommy was moved by the plight of the buried worker. As he frantically removed the soil, he uncovered a wrist-watch and thought he recognized the watchband. He kept digging until he uncovered the man's side. He saw the man was still breathing, but his respiration was very weak. Then Tommy recognized Jack. Tommy dug more frantically. The rescue squad arrived. They applied an oxygen mask to Jack while they were still digging him out. He revived slightly when they put him on a stretcher. He saw Tommy. "Who found me?" he asked. "I did," said Tommy. With his lips, Jack formed one word. "Thanks!" When we realize that the rubble of life has been removed, when the load of our sin and the oppression of our guilt has been lifted, when the darkness of depression and despair has been put to flight, we look up into the face of the One who found us, Jesus Christ, who came to seek and to save the lost, let us determine to spend the rest of our lives saying, "thanks!" Has he found you yet, or are you still buried in sin? Has he set you on solid ground or are you still in the trench of despair? Has he lifted you? He can, and will if you cry out to Him in repentant faith.
STORY BY DICK SULLIVAN, VIA CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE CHRISTIAN SOUL, HEALTH COMMUNICATIONS, INC., DEERFIELD BEACH, FLORIDA