[Faith-talk] Good Night Message for Saturday, March 9 2013, Albeit a Little Early

Sun Mar 10 09:29:15 UTC 2013

Hi,
That was a very good, well-written story.  It was pretty scary for me 
because I have always been afraid of fire.  I am so glad he survived!
Thanks
Lauren

advice from my cats: "meow when you feel like it."
The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be
understood. The best way to understand people is to listen to them.
-- Ralph Nichols
Visit us at catliness.com
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Paul" <oilofgladness47 at gmail.com>
To: <SereneMountain at yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Saturday, March 09, 2013 5:52 PM
Subject: [Faith-talk] Good Night Message for Saturday, March 9 2013,Albeit a 
Little Early

> Hello and good day to all my fellow saints of the Most High God, wherever 
> you reside in this world.  I hope that your day, morning, afternoon or, 
> for us in the Americas, evening are going well.  As this is being written, 
> you down in Kiwi country have long since completed your times of worship, 
> and I hope and pray that it was a good one.  You in Australia are probably 
> at church now and won't read this till you get home.  On the other hand, 
> we in the rest of the world have some catching up to do, but we'll do it, 
> by God's matchless grace and His providential care.
>
> I wonder if any of you out there know the author of today's story? His 
> name is Jose M. Sandoval, and his contribution is entitled "The Long 
> Leap," rendered as follows:
>
> Fifty years of traveling around the world as a U.S. merchant marine should 
> be enough adventure for anyone.  But not until I was an old man living 
> alone in New York City did I experience the most terrifying night in my 
> life.
>
> I was living in a men's hotel on 34th Street.  Recently released from a 
> veterans' hospital after four months of treatment, I was blind in one eye 
> with only partial vision in the other.  I worried.  I had always been an 
> independent person, but now, to be almost blind? Still, I was grateful to 
> be back on my own, and with a cane, I could get around somewhat.
>
> One night I went down to the street for a paper.  As I headed back to the 
> lobby, I could just about see the neon cross of the mission down the 
> street glowing through the mist.  I thought back on how God had helped me 
> through the years.  As a young soldier in Guatemala, about to drown in a 
> raging river, I turned to Him, and the torrent swept me to safety.  Some 
> years later I was aboard a ship wallowing helplessly in a hurricane. 
> Again, He was there.
>
> As I settled in bed, I offered my nightly prayer.  "Oh Father, thank You 
> for this room.  Thank You for still being able to read the paper." I 
> relaxed and then fell into a sound sleep.
>
> Dimly, I heard shouting.  It's probably some young men quarreling in the 
> alley, I thought.  I turned over.  But the noise increased.  Then I began 
> to hear bells, like fire bells.  I crawled out of the bed, fumbling for my 
> glasses.  I checked my watch; it was nearly eleven o'clock.  I picked up 
> the phone to call the desk and find out what was going on.  No answer.  I 
> jiggled the hook, but the phone was dead.  Apprehension began to build in 
> me.  This was an unfamiliar building; I didn't know my way around it.  Now 
> I could hear sirens wailing from far below.
>
> Fire? Could the building be on fire? I had to find out.  I opened the door 
> to the hall and fell back as thick black smoke billowed into the room.  I 
> slammed the door.  "Oh God, I've got to get out of here!"
>
> I remembered a metal fire escape door down the hall.  I pulled on my 
> pants, donned a raincoat, hat and winter gloves, then wrapped a wet towel 
> around my face.  I could hold my breath for two minutes.  Within that 
> time, I knew I had to get out that fire door.
>
> When I opened my door again, the smoke swallowed me.  I groped along the 
> walls, sensing through my gloves the paint bubbling on the plaster, 
> hearing the crackle of flames, feeling the searing heat.
>
> Ah, the fire door! I grabbed the hot metal handle and pulled.  Nothing. 
> It was swollen tight into its frame by the heat! I yanked at it.  Now my 
> lungs were bursting.  "Don't breathe!" my mind screamed, but I couldn't 
> hold my breath anymore.  My chest surged as I gasped for air.
>
> There was no air--only a hot, swirling pitch that burned my nostrils, 
> choked me, filled me with sickness.  My legs crumpled and I seemed to be 
> dizzily whirling into a black vortex, dimmer, dimmer ....
>
> Then I seemed to hear a voice, strong, powerful, commanding:  "Run to the 
> window! Fast! Run!"
>
> It shocked me.  And then, perhaps from years of instantly obeying 
> commands, I began running, blindly, turning through the labyrinth of 
> corridors.
>
> And then I saw it. A dim light.  I rushed to it and found myself in front 
> of a small window.  I lifted it.  Surprisingly, it slid up easily, unlike 
> the usual paint-sealed windows of old buildings.  I leaned out, gasping, 
> filling my lungs with fresh, cold air.
>
> As my head cleared, I looked down to the street at the end of the alley 
> far below.  It was alive with the activity of fire pumpers and the clamor 
> of the crowd.  In the garish brilliance of floodlights, tiny faces looked 
> up to the front of the building.  Would anyone see me there at the side in 
> the dark?
>
> I leaned farther out the window.  Behind me the inferno roared as timbers 
> exploded into flames and walls buckled and cracked.  Now heat seared my 
> back.  My coat began to smolder.  I had to get out.
>
> In the dark, about six feet from the window, was a large round chimney 
> pipe.  But I saw no hope of a handhold on its wide sooty girth.
>
> But wait.  What was that? Farther down, an iron brace bar extended from 
> the chimney to the building wall.  It looked much too far for me to reach, 
> but in desperation I reached for it anyway.
>
> I remember nothing more until I found myself clinging to the brace. 
> "Thank You, Lord," I breathed, as I got a firmer grip.  I looked down to 
> the street.  No one could possibly see me up here.
>
> Then I remembered the little flashlight I always carry in my coat. 
> Anchoring myself with one arm, I carefully reached into my pocket.  I 
> waved the flashlight.  No one seemed to notice.  About ten minutes passed. 
> I rested.  Fifteen minutes.  I began to tire.  Twenty minutes.  My body 
> ached in the cold night air.  Slowly I waved my flashlight.  Still no one 
> seemed to notice.  Twenty-five minutes.  My muscles cramped and I began to 
> shake in pain.  I looked at my hand; it was white from clutching the bar. 
> Was it a part of me anymore? I wasn't sure.
>
> Below me infinity stretched seven stories to the concrete pavement.  As I 
> freely swung the light, an insidious feeling came over me.  How relaxing 
> it would be just to let go, just rest my tired muscles.  And then I 
> remembered.  God had brought me this far.  I could not let down now.  I 
> waved the flashlight again.
>
> A thin cry floated up, "Don't jump!" Had someone seen me? And then other 
> voices rose, encouraging voices:  "Don't jump.  We're coming.  Hold on!"
>
> New strength flowed through me.  I felt I had won a battle with something 
> far darker than the smoke pouring of the window above me.
>
> And now I was bathed in light.  As the fire ladder reached toward me, I 
> could hear cheers from the street.  The ladder halted just below me, 
> trembling as a fireman scrambled up.  "Here," he called, "I'll help you 
> down."
>
> "No, thank you," I said as my feet felt for the step.  "I can make it." An 
> old man can still have dignity, I thought, as I eased down the ladder to 
> safety.
>
> The next day a TV cameraman and I walked through the charred halls to the 
> window I had escaped from.  He looke down at the iron brace and whistled. 
> "That's quite a distance.  How did you do it?"
>
> So I told him.  I told him God had shown me the way to that window and 
> that I was sure He had helped me reach the brace.
>
> He stared at me for a moment, then turned to set up his equipment. 
> Whether he believed me is something I don't know.  But I do know without a 
> doubt that I couldn't possibly have escaped that burning building without 
> God's help.
>
> I know, too, that I don't have to worry anymore about how I will get along 
> with my limited eyesight.  The Lord has shown me that He will always be 
> with me.
>
> And there you have it for today.  If this story is true, I hope that 
> Brother Jose is doing well on this day, if he, in fact, is still alive.
>
> And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, 
> individually and collectively, throughout this night or day and especially 
> in these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, 
> Paul
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