I once had a puppy as a small boy. It was the most precious thing that I had and I couldn’t wait to get out of school to get home and play with it. The puppy was brown in color with clear bright eyes and a wet muzzle. It was fat with a small tail that wagged all the time and it loved rolling on its back so that I could tickle its belly. I would cook porridge for it, clean up after it messed, and washed it once a week to remove insects from its fur.
One day I got home from school and my puppy was nowhere to be found. I looked all over for it calling out loudly, and was in tears when I couldn’t find it. Suddenly, my sister called me from inside the latrine closet and informed me that she could hear the puppy. Somehow, it had wandered into the latrine closet and had fallen into the hole many feet below.
If I had a way of getting down that hole to physically pull out the puppy, I would have. However, the hole opening was too small and I had to immediately figure out another way to save my puppy. As I joined several pieces of rope in order to have enough length to lower down a tiny bucket into the hole, all I could think about is how much suffering my puppy had already gone through.
When I finally had the bucket at the base of the latrine hole, I prayed that the puppy would get into the bucket so that I could pull it out. I could hear the whimper, and by shining a torch I could see the dark outline of the puppy surrounded by bubbling dark muck that fiercely offended the nose of my down turned face and made my eyes water. I wondered, “Would the puppy recognize my saving efforts and somehow see the significance of the bucket next to it?” But rather than get inside the bucket, the puppy just looked up at me and whimpered even more soulfully.
It was almost dark now and so I began imploring my puppy loudly to get into the bucket since I knew it might not last much longer inside the airless hole. But then I realized that my presence and voice was distracting the puppy from seeing what was right in front of it, and so I withdrew my face from the mouth of the hole and switched off the torch. That sent my puppy howling in protest and that made me heartbroken, but still I knew that it was the only way that I would be able to save the puppy. All the while, I talked to it with my mind and begged it to get inside the bucket.
When I went back to the hole after a while and shone the light downwards, the puppy was inside the bucket and quietly looking up. And as I pulled up the rope attached to the bucket, I was crying shamelessly with relief without even worrying that my sister would see my weakness. And when I finally saw the puppy at the surface, all coated with grimy stinking aged human dung, I was more than glad to hold it between my bare palms and immediately took it for a thorough cleanup, after which I wiped it with my only towel and warmed it by the fire in the kitchen until its damp fur became dry.
And as I think about that incident I realize that not at any time did I feel angry and say, “The puppy deserves it, let it suffer”. Rather, my only concern was that the puppy comes out of the ordeal it had fallen into alive, and that it never falls into such danger ever again.
I suppose God’s concern for us is much more that a small boy has for his puppy. When we fall into pits, he throws lifelines down at us and implores us to accept his help. Once in a while, He will withdraw His face so that we can look around at what He has given us as help, but that does not mean that He is any less concerned about our salvation. Are you in a pit and cannot see God shining down a light on you? Then just look around and you will see all the help that he has dropped down into the hole to help you climb out. And if you listen with your heart, you will hear Him imploring you to accept His help with your life.