Sink Hole
Our eight inches of snow was rapidly melting into mounds of slush and widening puddles in the streets and on the sidewalks that homeowners hadn't bothered to shovel. It was the first time I had walked outside in several days, so I enjoyed the sunny afternoon, even when I had to make my way gingerly across the sloppy streets and expanses of un-scooped walks.
Walking outdoors in God's beautiful creation is so much better than walking laps indoors or using my strider in the basement.
I was almost home when I came to a corner that seemed impassable. A couple of orange cones remained in the street as a reminder that some workers had been digging there. The street in that location was completely covered in a deep, slushy puddle, and I knew that a few feet of the sidewalk had recently been removed, leaving some extremely rough terrain that was sure to be muddy under the rapidly melting snow, so I decided to skirt the construction area and walk on the edge of the snow-covered yard.
I had only taken two steps when my right foot sank down, up to my knee, into a snow-covered, hidden hole. Immediately, I felt the slushy snow oozing into the top of my boot, soaking my sock and freezing my toes. I was able to pull my foot out of the hole without much trouble, but my boot and one leg of my jeans were both covered in mud. I made it back to the sidewalk, just a few feet away, and sloshed on home, fuming all the way.
Why hadn't the construction workers, or the homeowner, put up a few more barriers so innocent walkers would know where it was safe to walk? I thought about posting a sign of my own, so other walkers would have sufficient warning, but I decided that the hole I had stepped into would be obvious now that I had broken through the snow.
When I got home, I removed my sorry-looking boots and soggy, right sock outside the front door and stepped into the house. Bill called to me from the kitchen, asking if I had enjoyed my walk. He didn't laugh when I told him my sad story. Instead, he rinsed off my boot in the kitchen sink and sent me to the bathroom to spray off my jeans in the shower before throwing all of my muddy clothes in the washing machine.
Bill mentioned that the city workers had been battling a sink hole in that particular location. It appeared that the melting snow was worsening the problem.
An hour or so later, when Levi announced he was taking a walk, I didn't think to warn him about the hole on the corner a couple of blocks away. I shouldn't have been surprised when he stomped into the front entry a while later, yelling, "Mom! Do you know what happened?"
As soon as I saw him, I knew exactly what had happened. I hustled him back outside to remove both of his mud-covered boots, and reluctantly let him come back inside to remove his pants, as clumps of mud scattered all over the hall rug. Then, I sprayed off his jeans and boot liners in the shower, and threw his muddy clothes in the washer as I was transferring my own clothes to the dryer. Thankfully, Bill was willing to clean Levi's boots, which were much muddier than mine had been.
Levi had stepped into the same sink hole with both feet, up to his waist. If he had been walking alone, he would have had to use his cell phone to call someone to help him escape, but the friend who was walking with him was able to pull him safely out of the hole.
How often have we needed to cry out to God to rescue us, to pull us out of the "sink holes" that disrupt our daily lives? If you've never asked him to help you during hard times, you should try it. He promises to hear you and give you the help you really need. He will not fail you.
 |
Comments
Post a Comment