The Dying Man - Part I.

 “Give attention to the sound of my cry,
my King and my God,
for to you do I pray.”
(Psalm 5:2)

True story.

I was in the field when it happened. This was in 2021, or possibly 2022. I noticed my wife walking in some haste along our drive. She seemed to be hurrying, and then she disappeared from sight - due to the angle of the corner on the driveway.
I carried on working, but felt something wasn’t right, so after a couple of minutes I ascended the hill, walked to the gate, and looked out onto the road.
No sign of Linda, but five metres on the side of the road there was a pick-up truck, parked on the verge. I could see a man was standing on the road, looking into the window. Exactly the moment I looked over the gate, he suddenly started shouting, “Help. Help! Help! Oh someone help!”

It was positively awful. He sounded like a man drowning. I opened the gate, and ran to the pick-up. The guy shouting looked about 35. He saw me and said, “My dad’s having a heart attack.” He reached for his phone while I looked in the driver-side window. A man was there, probably in his sixties, his face was turning blue. It was positively ghastly. I opened the pick-up door and began pressing up and down on the man’s chest. The last time I’d done any first-aid was over 35 years earlier as a boy-scout.
Press. Press. Press. Press.
“They want to know the postcode” the young one asked.
I told him what it was while I was still trying to pump the man’s heart. He was completely blue now, and his tongue was sticking out. I cannot convey to you how ugly death looks.
And I knew I was losing strength. There was absolutely no response. I was sure he was dead, and I was certain my efforts were completely in vain.
The young guy was still talking to the 999 responder.
I was losing strength.
I don’t know how long this went on for. Try pumping a pillow for two minutes and see how your arms feel.
I was sure he was dead, and I was certain my efforts were completely in vain.
I was giving up.
He was dead. I knew he was dead.
I gave up.
I was out of strength.
I whispered “Jesus, help us.”

And just as my prayer finished, the corpse coughed.

I don’t know how long there had been no response from the dying man, but when I prayed, immediately after, he coughed.

My strength returned as I saw the situation wasn’t hopeless. The dead man was ALIVE!
Corpses don’t cough.

Press! Press! Press!

Suddenly the man’s wife arrived, and opening the rear-driver-side-door of the pick-up, wrapped her arms around the neck of her dying husband. She was crying. I was too. It was a severely traumatic moment.

Press! Press! Press! Press!

The first responder arrived. I kept pressing. I was aware that the traffic was building up from where the pick-up was parked, all the way down to the bridge. It was about 3.00 pm, obviously a lot of parents were coming into the village to get their children from school.

The first responder said, “We have to get him out of the cab.” Between him, the man’s son, and me, we got him out of the cab, and onto the road. Then they used the electric shocks on him. His body convulsed. Linda was watching now, as were all my children, and a small crowd of car drivers.

They bundled him into an ambulance. I could hear the air ambulance landing at the school. They took him with blue lights to the school, and from there air-lifted him to the hospital.

My role in the drama was over. The man was alive.

But who saved him? Was it me? Or was it Jesus? Or was it both of us working together?

I don’t know the answer to that. I think that if I’d not been there that day, the man would have died. But I also think that if Jesus hadn’t answered my prayer, he would have died anyway.
I had given up.

I don’t know what the lesson is here. Maybe its simply that when you get to where you can do no more, and you’re giving up, Jesus needs to act.

Don’t give up. Pray and keep going.

“Give attention to the sound of my cry,
my King and my God,
for to you do I pray.”
(Psalm 5:2)