Desperate to Escape

Country living is a lot like growing up in the city.  Except totally different.  While our surroundings were in sharp contrast, danger still lurked around the corner, or across the field.

Instead of a fenced yard, manicured lawn, and smooth cement perfect for training wheels, my brothers and I grew up with tall grass, dusty gravel, and wide-open spaces. Bawling calves replaced sirens and horns, and the only air pollution was wafting in from the hog farm down the dirt road.  We lived in the boonies; you could say. 

There was no “stranger danger” on our farm and the concept of parents entertaining children had yet to be invented.  We made our own fun and our world seemed limitless as long as we didn’t venture past the sentinel post, midway down the pine-lined laneway.

I remember one drizzly day we decided to take a shortcut through a plowed field.  We were just little guys, Jack and I, clad in mismatched clothes and rubber boots past our knees. Finally, reaching the halfway point in our trek, the ground turned to marshy gunk beneath our feet.  With each step, our legs became heavier, the wet clay fighting, reluctant to release our feet. And then, abruptly we stopped.  Trapped.  Prisoners of the mud.

As the ever-responsible sister, I tried to pull my little brother up, out of the muck, but to no avail.  Yep, we were stuck.  So, we did the only thing we could do.  We held hands and cried out for help.  We could do nothing else.  At the end of our pitiful selves, in desperation, we raised our voices in a unified wail.

Sometimes, I still feel like that little girl.  Stuck.  Stuck in the anguish.  Stuck in the unbearable.  Sinking in quicksand, paralyzed, powerless to change my situation.  Unable to move, to breathe. 

In my six-year-old brain, Jack and I were stranded and hopeless in the wet cropland for roughly one thousand hours before our mother came to rescue us.  I bet in her perspective it wasn’t that long at all.  But perspective is hard to come by when you’re mid-thigh in wet clay.

Listen, sister let’s take a lesson today from the little ones.  As babies, you and I knew instinctively to cry for help.  We recognized our dependence on our parents.  Our weakness wasn’t embarrassing or humiliating. Naturally, we cried out for rescue.

Are you struggling today?  Stuck, desperate to escape? Your mind racing endlessly, exhausted, desperate for freedom. 

Cry out, my friend.  Cry out to God with every fiber of your being.  He knows your situation well.  If you don’t know Him personally, He is pursuing you right now.  He wants an intimate relationship with you! He longs to comfort you and give you peace.

Sister, let’s join hands and cry out.  Raise our voices together in a collective wail.  And if you don’t have anyone praying alongside you, let me know.  I will be happy to hold that spot.

♥ Tess

Romans 8:25 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.

Psalm 145:8 The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.