"Somebody help the boy!"
So ends the old story about what the naughty boy shouted over his mother's shoulder on his way out of the sanctuary for a spanking. Change the gender, and the same phrase could be applied to me and my life, many times over.
A big one comes to mind... When I was a kid, I locked myself out of the house in disgust when Mom wouldn't let me use a spoon to make mud pies with some neighborhood girls. Once I stepped outside, I realized I had a toy (plastic) spoon I could use, but the door was locked. In a burst of frustration and anger, I punched the glass section of the screen door, shattering it and badly cutting my arm--lots of blood flowed, and it was coming fast. My dad was unavailable to help, and my mom also had my younger siblings (a toddler and a baby) to tend to. A neighbor outside working on his car heard the crash and came running--a paramedic. He did the necessary first aid and called his station directly, and his dad was able to come and watch the children while Mom went with me in the ambulance. Upon arrival at the emergency room, chaos. A race riot had erupted at a local inner-city high school, and injured, handcuffed kids were pouring in, along with police and snarling, upset police canines.
Can I pick and choose the best moments to do my thing, or what?
I saw an injury (and commented on it to my mother) that could have been permanently upsetting to any child, and the harried emergency room doctor resorted to slapping me in the face when I wouldn't sit still enough to get the numbing shot for the stitches.
Yet, in the midst of the crowding and fear and confusion, Somebody was helping the girl.
During a childhood run-in with Rheumatic Fever, as I hovered near death, that same Somebody reached down and healed me completely. Many patients who survive Rheumatic Fever come out of it with an enlarged heart and/or a heart murmur: not me. His help was complete, and He made me whole.
Life rolled on, and sometimes His intervention has been obvious: I've lived through Hurricane Alicia, tornadoes, and earthquakes--still here, still intact.
I've had troubles with bronchitis and allergies, to the point of gasping, but His breath of life sustained me.
He helped me in the literal dark of night when I heard my college roommate say to a friend, when asked about rooming with me, "I don't know why I stay here. I can't stand her."
It was broad daylight but a pitch-black moment when a boss told me that some from the team had found me to be inflexible, and didn't want to work with me anymore. I was able to vent my hurt and frustration to caring family and friends (all Christians, lucky me!), but only He knew the searing depths of those comments. He patiently performed the necessary first aid to my bleeding heart, along with the follow-up comfort to move me toward healing, in these times and in so many other, similar moments.
Somebody help the girl? Yes, readers and friends, Somebody does.
When my so-called career has been in the dumps and my finances in shambles, in He steps, with His own VERY special version of arithmetic--I call it "God's Math." Given the income, and the bills, it just doesn't make sense, but He doesn't have to abide by the rules of logic and physics, time and space. Since He made them, that seems fair, right?
Just a few days ago, I went into a spin in my car, skidding off the road, out of control. Again, I'm fine, with two flat tires as the only physical evidence that the incident even occurred. How many times has my life left the road, skidding out of control, where I felt like nothing more than a passenger? He's been there, ever present: always just waiting to take control again, to make the situation right, and to put me back on my feet--through ups and downs, humiliations and triumphs, through loss and gain, sorrow and joy.
Loved ones regularly pray for me; I know it, and I thank them. They ask God to watch over me, and guide me, and assist me. They ask the Almighty, each in their own way...
"Somebody help the girl!"
And Somebody does.
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