Heeding the Warning, Finding True Safety

Heeding the Warning, Finding True Safety

My darling wife and I recently embarked on a new adventure as Park Hosts at Davis Mountains State Park in Texas. Our first week was a dream – a stunning landscape, welcoming staff, and the glorious, cooler temperatures that this high-elevation haven promises even in summer. Our duties were fulfilling: feeding the park's winged residents, conducting site checks, and generally ensuring our visitors felt safe and welcome.

One evening, as we sat down to a well-deserved dinner, the tranquility shattered. A severe thunderstorm warning blared over the radio: 60 mph winds and quarter-sized hail were imminent. We sprang into action, jumping into our assigned vehicle to alert guests. The sky to the north of the ridge was a terrifying spectacle – malevolent, low, dark clouds swirled, trading flashes of lightning with their counterparts. The storm wasn't just coming; it was pressing down on us.

Some guests wisely packed up and fled, others checked into the hotel, and the rest battened down their hatches. But then, a thought struck us: what about those still on Skyline Drive, a winding road three hundred feet above the canyon floor? Perhaps it wasn't the most prudent move for our own safety, but we felt compelled to warn those who were, shall we say, even less prudent than us.

As we ascended, we spotted a young woman leisurely walking down the road, two or two and a half miles from her campsite in the canyon. I stopped, explaining the dire situation, pointing to the menacing clouds and the flashes of lightning. When I offered her a ride with my wife and me, her reply stunned us into incredulous silence: she was "fine" and just walking off post-baby weight.

"Ma'am," I pleaded, "you could die up here! Sixty-mile-an-hour winds can sweep you off this mountain, and quarter-sized hail can give you a severe beating."

"No thanks," she cheerfully responded, "I'm gonna continue my walk."

We had exhausted our authority as Park Hosts. With heavy hearts, we left her to her decision and continued up the mountain to warn others. On our way back down, amid the first large, cold drops of rain, we offered her a ride again. She waved us away with a slight scowl, still insisting on her walk. Reluctantly, we left her to her fate once more.

Later that evening, hoping she had found safety, the profound metaphor of the experience settled over me. How many times do we, as Christians, witness others blithely walking towards an eternity in Hell, just as oblivious to the impending danger as that woman on the mountain?

This experience was a powerful reminder. If we, as Christians, can care as much for the eternal safety of others as we do for our own physical well-being, we must do a much better job of demonstrating the love of Jesus Christ as the only hope for a world rushing headlong into spiritual storms.

"He who trusts in his own heart is a fool,
But whoever walks wisely will be delivered." – Proverbs 28:26