Monday, February 21, 2005
In the old days, when trains were the main mode of transport, there was always a switchman stationed at each track switch, ready to change the switch on the tracks should anything go wrong.
At this particular switch, one of the tracks was broken and the maintainance team was scheduled to come in the morning to fix it, at least temporarily. A man in his late forties was guarding this switch, thinking of his wife and his 6 year old child back home, waiting for his shift to end in a few hours so that he could go home to them. They were going to celebrate his child's birthday, and he anticipated the joy they would have...
The blast of an oncoming train woke him from his dreams. The train was headed for the broken track. He ran out to the track with his lantern, and tried to signal the driver to stop, but it didn't work. Perhaps the lantern wasn't bright enough. Perhaps the driver didn't see. Perhaps he simply ignored the warning.
The switchman ran back to his station, prepared to switch the tracks so that the train would safely go on, despite being on the wrong path for it's journey. At this moment, who should appear but his 6 year old son, running toward him with a small cake in his hands. "Son, stop! STOP!!!" But the child didn't hear. Kept running towards him. Running on the track.
The switchman faced a dilemma. Pull the switch, his son dies. Leave the switch, the train derails. The son's smile. The train's horn. No time to run out and save him.
Pull.Tears.
For the sake of the people on the train, the switchman gave his son's life, so that many may live. Nobody on the train knew of that sacrifice that he had to make. Nobody knew the pain it brought him to ensure that they could carry on their lives and reach where they were supposed to reach. Most people didn't care, wouldn't have even if they knew it happened.
The switchman was God. The son was Jesus.
Did you know that?
Do you know Him yet?
simply jon.pondered @ 7:53 am
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