Brad, the lesson from such stories is that God was taking care of us long before we knew Him. Before we were born, we were already His, whether we knew it or not.
jdc
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Darren’s story [when he was delayed, and saved by God from a car crash] sent a shiver down my spine. PRAISE GOD! . . . . and it reminded me of when God saved me from peril on two occasions in the same location.
First: the definition of “peril”: a condition of imminent danger, exposure to the risk of harm or loss. Something that endangers.
PART I.
Los Angeles, 1988-89.
In the Angeles National Forest, where Bekah witnessed that massive fire in the San Gabriel Mountains just above the border of Alta Dena and Pasadena, I used to go hiking frequently when I lived in L.A.
On one occasion, one of the first times I ever felt a “hint” of God’s existence, I took a late afternoon hike, alone, boulder-hopping along a semi-dry creek bed, exploring the deep canyon. As I continued upstream, further into the woods, I noticed it was beginning to get shadier, as the setting sun was heading toward the west. I figured it would be getting dark in about an hour and a half. So I kept plodding along, not considering that I would have to eventually turn aournd and head bakck towatrd the trailhead, and boulder-hopping would be dangerous after dark. Nevertheless, my curiosity compelled me to persevere, wondering what I would see around the next bend, and then the next. The canyon walls were turning darker shades of grey, athough I continued to disregard that warning sign that night was approaching.
Suddenly, the strap on my daypack broke. It was an inconvenience to carry it slung over one shoulder, but I still continued hiking. A few minutes later, my watchband snapped off, and my watch fell into the loose dirt on the hillside . I scrambled around for it, and found it, luckily. I thought to myself, Sheesh, what more could happen? Then it happened. Jumping across the dry creek bed, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my thigh. “Owwww. . . what?!” I thought I’d pulled a muscle or snapped a tendon, it was such an immediate, stinging pain . I pulled up my loose pant leg to look at my injury. . . and a bumble bee dropped out of my trouser leg. How he got inside my pants I haven’t a clue, but he left a stinger in my thigh that was paralyzing.
Instantly, the thought occurred to me that God was trying to get my attention. “It’s time to turn back” was the “feeling” I felt in my heart. As the voice of God continued, it seemed to say, “Do I have your attention now, Brad? Curb your enthusiasm. Resume this exploration another day. It’s too late in the day to continue. Heed my warning. It’s for you own good.” I pondered the challenging feelings and thoughts, and I chuckled. It took a lot of humility to suppress my boyish instincts and obey that common sense message that I knew was right. I started my hike back the way I came, limping slightly from the pain of the bee sting. And sure enough, the night seemed to approach faster than I had estimated. I crossed a precipitous cliffside, over a waterfall, in the remaining dim light of dusk, and by the time I arrived back at my parked car, it was very dark indeed. Had I lingered in the canyon for much longer, I would’ve most likely been in danger of greater injury than a bee sting.
In the early springtime of 1989, I decided to explore the canyon again, starting farther upstream in the forest and hiking downstream along the creek bed. I took a companion this time: Bret, my best friend’s teenage son. We had our little backpacks, with minor essentials for a day hike; some gloves, emergency rope, extra socks, food and water.
We followed the creek, whose water was flowing more fully this time around, and did the usual boulder-hopping, getting nicely wet all along the way. We traversed a couple of cascades, and they were easy to pass over, going downstream, yet, in the back of my mind I wondered how hard it might be when we would have to climb up over those waterfalls on our way back upstream.
After we had hiked about two hours along this creek, we came upon a considerably larger waterfall, which we also traversed with relative ease, but at the bottom of the waterfall, around the bend, appeared another cascade that stopped us in our tracks, literally and quite thoroughly. It was a forty or fifty foot drop, straight down. Our exploration was finished. Our hike was over. We had come to a dead end. As I peered over the edge of this cliff, I resolved to turn around and get a good start back the way we came, but as I glanced behind me at the waterfall we had just climbed down, with its rushing water pouring over the rocks, I suddenly felt a bit trapped. We seemed to be in a fearful predicament; being unable to go any further downstream and wondering how we were going to climb back over the previous cascade, which was about twenty-five feet high.
Fortunately, we had some rope, but only a short length.
No matter. God had planned for this to happen. He set it all up, and provided for our escape.
Lying on the ground, right next to me at the water’s edge, was a huge coil of heavy gauge wire. I guess it’s called “piano wire.” I can’t imagine what a huge coil of galvanized wire was doing lying there on the rock near the top of the waterfall. But we made no haste in using it for our ascent.
Applying my the Eagle Scout know-how, I joined our rope together with the length of wire and lassoed it around a rock way up near the top of the falls. It was anchored strongly enough to proceed with our climb, so with gloved hands we pulled ourselves upward, getting soaked in the waterfall. After accomplishing that, we kept on going, through the creek, and the remaining obstacles weren’t quite as challenging.
When the day was done, we sat and talked about how fortunate we were, but neither of us mentioned God’s grace at all.
Now, reflecting on that curious situation of being stranded between two waterfalls, but being “given” the rescue wire to escape, I am riveted at the wonder of God, and the situations that He gives each of us, to teach us. . . . to trust in Him. . . to BELIEVE in Him.
We are so slow to believe. Here a little, there a little. . .
Eventually He gets us—- if we’re HIS.
:^)
Brad
Pastor John's House Mail Bag 