As I recently posted on social media, in an effort to honor a commitment I made in My 2021 Year In Review, this post is part of a 2022 birthday week movement to post something once daily this week on my blog, The Impossibility Movement. And before all the orthodox Tories throw a spac about yet another crass reference, I’m going somewhere here. Stay with me.
Years ago a revered pastor told me a rendition of this story.
A man was trapped on top of his house during a massive flood. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and began to rock back and forth, praying, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, for God to wisp him away to safety. After some time, weak, dehydrated, and malnourished, he toppled over, fell into the water, and carked it, finding himself challenged of his earthly immortality. At once he was indeed wisped away, but in an afterworldy sense, now standing before the pearly gates, and in anger and frustration, he interrogated the Lord,
I prayed hard! Why didn’t you sweep me away to safety? Why didn’t you rescue me? What trespass have I committed to deserve such a fate as starving to exhaustion and inhaling the river ?
You were closing your eyes and praying for a miracle. Had you looked out upon the horizon, you would’ve seen the boat that I sent to rescue you. Had you looked up into the skies, you would’ve seen the helicopter descending to take you away. Had you looked inside the attic, you would’ve found an inflatable raft and enough food and water for a week. But you wanted “a miracle.”
This post isn’t about being rescued by God. It’s about the man on the roof and his flawed perception, like many humans. See below. 👇🏼