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The last thing I remember is thanking a lovely man for taking my two cases down from the train in the York station. The next thing I remember is a kindly voice saying, “Lift up your arms; I’ll pull you out.” Evidently, I’d fainted on the train platform and tumbled down on to the tracks.
“That must have been terrifying,” said the man who was plastering my broken wrist at the hospital.
“Not really,” I replied, “I don’t remember anything”.
“That must have hurt to be pulled out with a broken wrist,” sympathized the woman who was gluing the long slit in my head.
“Yes, it must have,” I mumbled, “although I don’t really remember.”
“Ooh, you’ll have a lot of bruising,” warned the nurse checking the cut on my back. She was right.
As I lay in a hospital bed for several hours, my mind drifted. I remembered playing with the children next-door when I was a little girl and scraping and gashing my stomach. I was horrified by all the pain and blood, and I demanded to be lifted over the hedge to safety.
The hedge was a bit high though, so my mother urged me, “Run around the block to come home. It’s not far.”
But I was having none of it: I kept my eyes glued on my father.
“Lift up your arms,” he said, and soon I was lying in my room, bandaged and safe. These two rescues blended in my half-conscious mind: once I had begged for rescue; this time I wasn’t even aware of where I was, and help was given just the same.
In the hospital ward, fragments from Scripture floated in my heart: From the depths I cry to you O Lord … He drew me out from the miry waters … He rescued me since He loves me …
I thought, “This will be a perfect image for Lent.” If I find myself in a pit of my own making, with a train barrelling toward me, I can cry, Pull me out!
If I’m lost like a little lamb, suddenly realizing I’m entangled in the briars, one little bleat can call the Good Shepherd to my aid.
If an inner wound or searing emotional pain paralyzes or blinds me, if I’m lost in some part of my spirit and don’t even know it, if I’m stuck in my sin and can’t call out, perhaps I’ll hear a kind voice saying, “Lift up your hands and I’ll draw you out”.
I can ask my Lord, “Where am I lost? In danger? Where do I most need your grace?” As I allow Him to gradually pull me free, I will know ever more profoundly that he rescues me because he loves me.
And in my last moment on earth, I may plead for him to pull me over the hedge to safety, or perhaps he’ll catch me by surprise and whisper, “Lift up your arms. It’s time.”
I don’t mind whatever way he chooses, as long as those strong arms pull me safely Home.
