They were nearly 300 feet below ground. Nine coal miners, drilling into an abandoned mine shaft. Suddenly, the area they were in began to flood with millions of gallons of water. There was no way out. They managed to find an air pocket where they huddled together in a space that was only three feet high and twelve feet wide. Oxygen was running out; hypothermia couldn't be far away. Even if they were able to stay alive, there was no way for them to get back to the surface. Meanwhile, overhead, the authorities devised a daring rescue plan; to drill a 36-inch wide hole through the earth and through the bedrock that separated the miners from the surface. It took four days of around-the-clock effort and some frustrating setbacks, but ultimately the breakthrough came. They made it to the trapped men, who were all still alive. One by one, they were lifted up that narrow shaft in a metal cage. It was one of those miracle moments when they reached the surface to the hugs and cheers of loved ones who feared that they would never come out alive.
There have been a number of airplane crashes over the years. A few of them are the kind you just don't forget. One was the crash of United Flight 232. Captain Al Haynes and his crew were desperately trying to control a plane that was almost out of control due to an equipment failure. They were diverted from Chicago to Sioux City, Iowa. There was no way they were able to maneuver that plane to the airport. Their best hope of saving at least some lives was to try to bring it down in a nearby cornfield. Captain Haynes became a national hero when he somehow managed to do just that. Tragically, some lives were lost in the crash landing and the subsequent fire, but there were many survivors from a crash that could have easily killed all aboard. Captain Haynes said he had a hero that day. His crew had checked every procedure book to see what to do in an emergency like they were facing. They found no procedure. So Captain Haynes' hero was the flight controller that talked him through that terrifying crisis. Here's what the captain said: "There's nothing like a calm, soothing voice talking to you, telling you everything you need to know."
It seemed harmless enough when I entered. I was just a kid at an amusement park in Chicago, and the ride was just a big cylinder that made you feel like you were walking into a washing machine. They called it The Rotor. I stood against the edge and I waited for it to do its thing. Then it started to do what something called The Rotor might be expected to do - rotate. As it began to spin faster and faster, the floor started to disappear in front of my feet. I was plastered against the side of the cylinder, looking down into this yawning black hole. I hated it. I wanted off. Too bad!
It was during a major energy crisis in the United States. From the White House on down, people were turning off lights, canceling or combining automobile trips, and using energy conservation steps they had never even considered before. A Christian college in the Boston area had a chapel with a yellow-lit cross on the top. In keeping with the need to conserve, they turned off that light. Before long, they got an urgent call from an air traffic controller at Logan Airport. He said, "You need to turn on the lights on your cross...immediately!" The college learned that night that they hadn't known before. The flight controller said, "That cross is the first landmark for flights coming in from Europe, and we have a flight coming in on low fuel. I know we're having an energy crisis, but turn on the lights on that cross. If they can't see the lights on the cross, they cannot land safely."
He's not the youngest motorcycle rider in the pack, but he's got to be one of the most devoted. Take that away from him and you'd be taking away one of the great joys of his life. Problem: he's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. And as that condition progresses, he can expect to begin to experience some disorientation, among other things. That's not a good thing for a fellow running around on his motorcycle. So he has installed a global positioning system on his bike which will always show him where he is and where home is. That way, if one day he's out on his bike and forgets his way home, he'll be able to find his way home no matter where he goes.
The other night, as I was "remoting" my way across our TV channels, I came to a quick stop when I saw that one particular movie was on - "Chariots of Fire." Years ago, it won the Oscar for "Best Movie," but that's not why I stopped to watch it - it was because of how that movie impacted me the first time I saw it. It's the story of Eric Liddell, a famous Scottish Olympic runner. He had reached his dream of representing the United Kingdom as a 100-meter runner in the 1924 Olympics. Then, en route to the Games, he learned that his event would be on Sunday - the day Eric Liddell believed was reserved for God. A day on which his deep convictions would not allow him to participate.
It's hard to believe there was a time when you had to be carried by someone in order to get anywhere, right? You know, there was a time when it was a major, major breakthrough for you to finally figure out how to move yourself places. Not too long ago, I had a chance to see our six-month-old granddaughter in that milestone struggle to figure out how to crawl. We stopped the presses not long ago because she had learned to sit up by herself. Now, that's a good start. I had been sitting on the living room carpet with her (I recently learned to sit up by myself, as well). I lay down a few feet from her, I held a favorite toy on the rug in front of me, and I started drumming my fingers rhythmically on the carpet. She was definitely intrigued. And you could tell she really wanted to get to my fingers and to that toy. She finally figured out there was no easy way to get what she wanted. She managed to fall forward from her sitting position, get up on all fours, and then rock back and forth in neutral. She reached my direction with one hand, risking her delicate balance. She didn't quite make it, but I knew she would soon. Because I knew that she would eventually do whatever she had to do to get where she wanted to be.
A friend of mine was commenting on some recent news stories in which something very shocking, very violent and seemingly unexplainable had happened within a family. He concluded with a comment based on a classic country song he knew, "No one knows what goes on behind closed doors." Actually, that's not true.
It was one very hot day, and my granddaughter and I were watching some horses. One-by-one they made their way to the little pond to take in some more water. Then this big old grey horse decided drinking wasn't enough. He didn't just get a little of the pond in him, he got into the pond and lay down in the water. He splashed around a little, stayed there for a while and finally pulled his big old body out of the water. Relating what she saw to her world, my granddaughter said, "He's taking a bath!" If that was his intention, I had bad news for that horse. He got out of that murky water with his light gray coat covered with dirt! So much for getting clean!
There is this age where a toddler just starts exploding with words they're learning and hour-by-hour discoveries they're making. Those "discoveries" quickly teach new parents a survival skill. It's called "baby-proofing" - as in removing anything that little person could get their hands on that might do them harm or vice versa. The way you discover what needs to be removed is usually by the toddler getting their hands on it. Suddenly, parents are playing defense against a strong, and suddenly very independent, toddler offense. I've watched this time-honored human drama being acted out in our son and daughter-in-law's home when our one-year-old granddaughter started exploring each new day. When she wanted something she couldn't reach, she made sure that they knew that. Our son explained our little angel's frame of mind this way: "All she ever wants is just beyond her reach."
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