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Many years ago, my friend's active four-year-old and his little two-wheeled bike were suddenly gone from their front yard. A steep side road made a handy short cut from their house to ours. The road had been closed off to vehicular traffic, its pavement broken up, and the road itself overgrown with weeds. Surely, Troy wouldn't take that road, thought Lana. He doesn't even know how to use his brakes!
As Lana approached the top of the hill where the road began, her worst fears were realized. At the bottom of the hill, lay Troy's bike. The heavy wooden barrier at the bottom was knocked away, and blood glistened on the grass. But no Troy.
Lana continued running to the highway, towards our house across from the steep road. She knew I wasn't home—the kids and I were at school-- but she burst through the door anyway. In those days we didn't even lock our doors. Calling Troy's name, Lana quickly looked around. She ran outside again and searched our hillside, overgrown with long grass, weeds, and bushes. No sign of Troy.
Again Lana opened our door, now noticing Troy's runners. Frantically, she checked every room, and called down the basement stairs. Peering into our boys' bedrooms, Lana ran into the TV room. She finally heard a whimpering in the dim light. There in the corner, curled up in a sleeping bag, lay Troy. His bruised face was a mess—swollen lip, blood trickling out of his nose and mouth, and his toque dark with blood. Bike helmets were not typically worn then. Scooping him up, Lana rushed outside. In our tiny village, we didn't even have a resident ambulance, nor did we use cell phones. Someone driving down the highway spied her and lurched to a stop to offer her a ride.
Long story short, an ambulance came from the next town, fifty kilometres away, and took Troy to the big regional hospital a couple of hours away, over winding mountain roads. Although Troy's skull was split open, miraculously there were no internal injuries or damage to the brain.
Troy had staggered across the highway where logging trucks regularly rumbled by. He was conscious enough to find the house of his friends, and found shelter because of an unlocked door.
Do we seek God in times of trouble? God's door is always open, ready to shelter us. “God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.” (Psalm 46:1 NLT)
“He alone is my refuge, my place of safety” (Psalm 91:2 NLT)
Just as Troy knew where his friends lived, we know in our minds that God is always available to us. Let's have confidence in that fact, and avail ourselves of His help. Let's live in such closeness to Him, that we don't hesitate to run to Him in times of trouble.
Prayer: Thank You, Lord, that you are our shelter, our hiding place. Help us to run quickly to You for refuge when we need help. Amen.
Alice Burnett,
Red Deer, AB, Canada
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