The Well

Randy Gil lived in central Arkansas, a beautiful part of the United States with lush rolling hills, shrouded by tall trees. It is a land where a purple haze hangs in the deep pockets in the woods, where on a warm summer night a myriad of fireflies blink and flicker like distant star fields. It is a land pungent with the aroma of an approaching thunderstorm – thick with moisture blowing up from the Gulf of Mexico. It was on this land that Randy Gil was born.

Randy’s father, Harold, migrated to the area in the late 1950’s from North Carolina. Before long he and his wife had two sons, Randy and Tom.

Tom, the older son, worked in town. He had his own business running an automotive repair shop and was doing quite well at it.
Young Randy had other dreams. He loved the out-of-doors. His ambition was to become the best logger in the county. He worked at perfecting his chain-saw technique by cutting pulp wood for a local mill. Randy was a tall man, just over 2 metres in height. He was also very stout – not fat or flabby, but hefty. He had muscles all over, weighing about 110 kg. He always wore a T-shirt and overalls. His young face was chubby and round and his cheeks were always rosy.

Even with all this mass, Randy was a gentle and tender-hearted person. Born in the rolling hill country of central Arkansas, he always prided himself in being honest beyond question and hard working. “My father always taught me to first pay my tithes, then pay my bills and never tell a lie,” he said with a large smile on his face. His father was never disappointed and he continued to be a regular attendant at the local church every weekend where his parents had taken him since he was a child.

Randy lived with his parents and was happy with his logging trade. Then one day he met Cindy. She worked in the local grocery store. Randy began to get serious and visited the grocery store more often than he needed groceries. He dropped 10 kg’s and bought some new clothing.

After several years they agreed to get married.
Several months before their wedding date, Randy began preparing a home for his bride. His father gave him five acres of ground across the road as a wedding gift. It would be his own land, clear and free. He busily began cutting trees and building a house. Then came the time to dig the well. The Acme Drilling company came out and gave Randy an estimate for the drilling. They wanted $900 to drill a 20 metre well, but Randy didn’t want to spend the money.

He was sure that the water was not so far below the surface and rather than spend the money, or ask his father’s advice, he decided to dig the well himself.
He asked a friend, James Lewis to come and help. He was sure the water was only 6 metres down since that is how far his father’s well was across the road.

When his father heard of the plan he was sceptical. “Son, that seems like a big and dangerous job digging down in a hole in the ground, you should ask Acme to do it. I know it is expensive, but if we think and pray about it, perhaps we can come up with another plan.”
But Randy didn’t want to take time to seek the Lord and try to think of a plan. He was determined to do it his way and to do it now, so he began early the next morning. Armed with picks and shovels, buckets and winches, they attacked the earth. Flailing, grunting, sweating, digging, they continued to dig deeper and deeper into the ground. Down, down, down they went.

Another friend stopped by around 4 o’clock to see how they were doing. He peered into the pit only to see a red-faced Randy looking back up. “How deep are you?” asked the friend.
“I think about 3 metres,” he puffed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’ll tell you one thing though, it’s hotter than a fire coal down here!”
James Lewis was not in the pit. It was his job to pull up the buckets of dirt as Randy filled them.

About the same time the next day, this same friend stopped by again to see the progress. There was Randy, down in the hole, sweating, and James Lewis looking on from above, doing his job with the buckets. “Hey, Randy, how far down are you now?”

“I figure about 4.5 metres now,” he grinned, “But don’t worry, we’re going to hit water any minute now.”
While he was talking a large chunk of the dirt sidewall broke loose and tumbled down onto Randy.
“Randy,” hollered his friend. “You’d better be careful. These walls are liable to collapse on you and bury you alive.”
“No, don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

It was the third day of digging on the site, about 8:00 A.M. and the friend was heading down to the post office, right past Randy’s place, so he decided to pull off the road and go and take another look.

“That’s funny,” he thought to himself. “Where are Randy and James Lewis? Usually by this time they’ve been digging for a couple of hours. But no one’s around. Where can they be?”

Then it was that he heard a strange unearthly sound. It was sort of like a faint human voice off in the distance. He listened and craned his neck in the direction of the noise. It sounded like someone calling for help. He walked in the direction of the voice, and finally came to the well.

As he looked down into the miry pit and there was Randy, covered with mud, slumped against the wall of the well. He was close to exhaustion, and nearly hoarse from calling for help.

His friend cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “You, down there! Randy, are you all right?”
“Big K, is that you?” he said weakly, as he gazed up at the circle of light above.
“Yes, Randy, what are you doing down there? Where is James Lewis?”
“Just get me out of here and I’ll explain,” came his reply.

Big K ran across the road and got Randy’s father and his brother. They lowered a rope, and Randy tied it around himself. Then they pulled the large man out of the soggy pit.
He lay flat on his back like a beached whale, gasping for breath. Then, in a few seconds, he propped himself upon his elbows and exclaimed, “Whew! Boy, am I glad to see you all.”
“What happened, Son?” asked his father, bending over him.

“Well, last night after James Lewis left,” Randy began, “I came out with my flashlight to see if water was collecting in the well. Anyway, the dirt on one side of the hole gave way, and I fell down there.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve been in that hole all night?” asked Big K.

“That’s right. And I’m extremely hoarse from yelling and tired from trying to climb up out of here.”

“I guess so,” said his father. “Now will you listen to reason? You can’t dig that well yourself. It’s far too dangerous. Until you have enough money to pay for Acme to come and dig your well, I’ll get some pipe and run you some water from my well across the road.”

“That suits me fine!” said Randy. So, in the end, Randy and James Lewis filled in the well. All that remained of the venture were a few railroad ties used to mount the pulleys, still sticking out of the ground.

Later, after Randy showered and cleaned, he was chatting with Big K, “Now I know what Joseph felt like when his brothers put him in the pit. It was really scary there for awhile, but the worst part about my experience is that it was my own fault. I trapped myself. I dug a pit and fell into it. I refused to listen to advice and decided I would do things my own way. It was harder than I thought.”

How often this happens to us in our spiritual lives. We are unwilling to listen to our heavenly Father, and we become hopelessly trapped by our own foolish sins. We fall into quagmires of our own making. The more we struggle to escape, the more tired and frustrated we become and the more we become covered with the mud of unrighteousness. Exhausted, we succumb to the realization that unless we get help from above, we are doomed.

It is only when our Friend from above lowers the lifeline that we can be saved. There is no other way to be saved, except by Jesus. “Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” Acts 4:12. All you have to do is grab the rope that He lowers and He will lift you out.