Plucked From the Pit
Peggy, don’t be such a worrywart! Janie plays around here all the time. It’s perfectly safe. Let the girls have a good time together while we have our meeting,” said Myrtle, my mother’s new friend and business partner.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Myrtle. After all, this is a construction site. There could be all kinds of hazardous materials and equipment they could get hurt on.” Mother grimaced.
A warm summer breeze slipped through the open window, billowing the curtains and beckoning us to run the untamed meadows of childhood.
“I promise I’ll be careful. Oh, Mommy, puleeeeze!” I gripped her hand and begged to play with Janie. I had heard the haunting cry of adventure in my spirit.
My poor mother, who was sometimes criticized for being too cautious with her only child, reluctantly decided to let me go, not wanting to appear overly protective or to stifle my attempts to gain some small independence.
Myrtle opened the back door of the mobile home office and shooed her daughter and me out into a strange and exciting new playground.
Cricket songs and a choir of bedding birds in the rustling sycamore converged in summer’s carefree song. I was filled with the joyful abandon that only a child at play can fully know. I was four years old. I had a brand-new friend, and I couldn’t wait to explore with her the construction site, where our parents produced pre-fab, low-cost homes.
In this shoe-shedding, tree-climbing, tire-swinging season, Janie and I ran through the cemented, chain-link-fenced construction area. When you’re four, you can fashion fun out of anything and anywhere. We somersaulted on the front office lawn, practiced our cartwheels, and tap-danced on the wood deck just like budding Shirley Temples.
Trotting, tumbling, yelping, spinning, leaping—we were one with earth and sky and every living thing . . . until adventure called us to a new arena, one that Janie had never before explored.
I still recall running and squealing in delight as I looked over my shoulder to see if my new playmate was gaining on me in our frenetic game of tag.
Suddenly, my joy ended and I was plunged into a deep, dark hole in the cement!
Pain tore at my face and hands, and fear tore at my spirit. My mind reeled as I tried to determine what had just happened. I only knew that moments before, I’d been enjoying a marvelous time, and now I was trapped in a deep pit.
Janie peered over the edge at me and disappeared. She was the only one who knew where I was or what had happened, and now she was gone.
Even more overwhelming than the physical pain was the panic that engulfed me as I realized that I was a captive in this cement cell. I was certain Janie had gone off to explore and that I was now on my own.
I felt completely abandoned—imprisoned and forsaken.
Later in life, when I read the story of Joseph in the Old Testament, I felt a kinship and empathy for him when his brothers threw him into the cistern. I understood how afraid and alone he must have felt.
I spun frantically around and around and cried out. The hole was narrow and the sides were smooth, with no steps or notches for me to use to climb out.
Surely I’m going to die here! I thought.
Childlike, I never reasoned that eventually my parents would realize something was amiss when I didn’t return, and would come searching for me.
Hours seemed to pass without any relief, and then, suddenly, inexplicably, I was standing over the abyss, looking down at where I had just been imprisoned.
As I turned and ran toward the mobile home office, Mother ran toward me. She swooped me into her embrace and tried to comfort me and learn exactly what had happened. Little Janie cried right along with me. Not only had she not abandoned me, but she had also alerted Mother to my plight.
After my wounds were treated and bandaged and I had settled down a bit, we went back to view the pit. We discovered that this hole in the cement was designed for a man to stand in and work on the underside of the modular homes without the discomfort of lying on his back. Perhaps it was only six feet deep, but to a tiny child it might as well have been sixty.
The adults were astounded that I had gotten out without help. They inspected the manhole for anything to grasp or use as a foothold. Nothing.
“It’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom,” Janie’s dad exclaimed, scratching his head. “How in the world did she get out of there?”
As an adult, recalling that terrifying incident, which is forever imprinted upon my memory, I have often wondered if I really was unaided in my escape, after all. I didn’t yet know the Lord, but He knew me! His Word is full of incidences when He sent His angels to aid those in distress. Since there was no earthly explanation for my escaping on my own, I’m convinced that I had a boost from one of God’s heavenly helpers.
Now when I’m stuck in a pit of physical or emotional pain, I recall the Lord’s compassion shown to that panicky little four-year-old, and I know He always sees me, no matter how deep the chasm I’ve fallen into. He knows the pain or panic I am experiencing. His Word assures us that His heart is filled with compassion for us when we suffer, and it assures us that when we fall, He will rescue us.
King David recorded in Psalm 103:4 that God “redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion.”
Just as I rested in Mother’s comforting arms that evening long ago, I can now rest knowing that I am forever safe in God’s eternal arms of love.