“My spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour . . . For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name” (Luke 1:47, 49).
“Are you hungry, Momma? Do you want anything?”
Marie’s mother shook her head. “Thank you, Marie. I’m all right.” She wasn’t looking at Marie. She was looking out across the strange watery landscape.
Their neighborhood, a small development east of New Orleans, had been flooded for two days. Now an ocean of gray water stretched as far as Marie and her mother could see. On rooftop islands their neighbors sat stranded, waiting for help to come.
Marie leaned against her mother and closed her eyes. To Marie’s left sat a white plastic bag. In it were two boxes of cereal, almost empty, and half a pan of dried-out cornbread. The two-liter Coke bottle had been empty since yesterday.
“I wish I could help us, Momma.” Marie looked up at her mother.
“I know, Marie. You’re such a help to me.”
Straight ahead of the two, at the end of what used to be their street, a convenience store stood. Now all that could be seen was the red and yellow sign that read “Quick Mart.” Just four days ago Marie had run there to buy her mother a carton of milk. All the way home she had run, carrying the heavy carton.
“Look at that girl fly!” one of the neighbors had called as she ran past his porch.
And when Marie had burst in the door with the milk, her mother had grinned widely and hugged her.
“You’re such a help to me, Marie,” she had said.
But now Marie couldn’t help anyone. She couldn’t even help herself.
Marie felt a tear escape and seep through her mother’s T-shirt sleeve. Her mother must have felt it too, because she put an arm around her daughter. After a minute, Marie’s momma spoke.
“It’s okay that you can’t help me now, sweetheart. That’s not your job.”
Marie sat up and looked at her mother.
“Your job is not to rescue me, Marie. Your job is not to rescue yourself, either. Your job is just to wait for help to come. And when help comes, your job will be to take it.”
Marie sat, quiet, hugging her knees. Marie’s mother looked out into the distance.
“Marie, who is our great Rescuer?”
“God,” Marie whispered. “He rescues us from sin.”
“He does!” Even though Marie’s mother hadn’t slept for two days, her eyes were almost happy. “That’s what Savior means. It means ‘Rescuer.’ Marie, you know how helpless we are on this roof, stuck in all this smelly water?”
Marie nodded.
“That’s just how helpless we are stuck in sin! And we can’t sprout wings and fly out of this water, can we?”
“No, Momma.”
“And there’s no way, no way in the world that we can get ourselves out of sin. So what do we need?”
“We need someone to pull us out.” Marie wasn’t whispering now.
“And Jesus did it, didn’t He?”
“Yes, Momma. He pulled us right out of our sin.”
“We’re just helpless sinners. He’s the Strong One.”
“You’re right, Momma.” Marie leaned against her mother again.
So Marie and her mother felt peaceful, even before they saw the Coast Guard helicopter flying toward their street that afternoon. They laughed and hugged each other when they saw the rescue workers dropping to their neighbors’ rooftops, lifting them to safety.
And when Marie’s rescuer landed on her rooftop and picked her up, Marie wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. She didn’t try to help her rescue worker. She just let him rescue her.
God is the only one strong enough to rescue us from sin.
My response:
» Am I trying to rescue myself from sin?
» Or am I trusting God, the great Rescuer, to rescue me?