The doctor was weary. All day, since early morning, he had worked in the hospital operating room, and now he was exhausted. Eager to get home he hastened to the parking lot, picked up his car, and was soon on his way.
Along the beach front highway he sped, but just as he rounded a sharp curve a young fellow stepped out into the road and began to flag him down and shout for help.
The doctor pulled off onto the shoulder and stopped his car. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Please help us! We’ve just pulled our friend from the water and we think he is dying on the beach. Can you get a doctor?”
The doctor had wished to see no more patients that day, but this was an emergency—a matter of life or death. “I am a doctor,” he replied, and grabbing his black bag, he raced with the youth over the sand dunes to where a small crowd had gathered.
Requesting the group to stand back, there in the moonlight he kneeled down beside the still form of the boy before him and began feeling for his pulse. Alas, there was no heartbeat! The young people sobbed and cried when the doctor slowly rose to his feet and told them, “I’m sorry, but we are too late! He is gone!”
Scarcely had he made the sad announcement when the beam of an approaching motorcycle lit up the scene and one of the group turned the body of the victim over.
Instantly the doctor dropped to his hands and knees again, and frantically began to apply artificial respiration to the motionless form before him. He applied pressure alternately to the chest, and then pressing his lips to the lips of the boy, he inhaled and exhaled vigorously in a feverish effort to revive breathing. Perspiration broke out over the doctor’s face and his lips moved in prayer as he besought God’s help and mercy.
A long time he worked unceasingly over the boy, and then he felt at last a glimmer of breath in the lad’s lungs. The breathing was growing stronger and the heart was beating again. The doctor called for an ambulance and had someone phone the hospital emergency room to have a bed ready. The wail of sirens heralded the arrival of the ambulance, and soon the boy was aboard and being rushed to the hospital.
This story has a happy ending. In the mercy of God the boy recovered completely, and the doctor, with many others that night, bowed in prayer and thanked God for sparing his life.
But what made the difference in the doctor’s attitude towards that seemingly lifeless form lying there before him on the beach? What suddenly filled him with fresh hope and stirred him to fresh energies in an effort to save that young life?
It was when the motorcycle’s headlight beamed on the face of the boy that he recognized his own son. And suddenly the one overwhelming, all-transforming desire of his heart was to save that life—a life dearer to him than his own!—his own flesh and blood!
God had one Son in whom was all His delight. He did not spare Him, but delivered Him up for us all, that we might be saved from the penalty of our sins. That blessed One hung there upon the cross, as our Sin-bearer, in Calvary’s dark hour. God could have saved Him; He could have saved Himself. And yet He could not save Himself for His love to us was too great. If we were to be saved from hell, and saved for heaven, Jesus must die. So God turned His face away from that blessed Sufferer, and when all was over, when He had finished redemption’s work, Jesus bowed His head and died. For three days He lay in the grave, and then God raised Him from the dead. Now He sits at His right hand in the highest glory, a Prince and Saviour for all who will believe.
Dear friends, remember the story of the doctor and his son. Perhaps you have a father, a mother, a sister, a brother, or a friend who is unsaved. Bring Christ to them; bring them to Him, before they die in their sins. Jesus is waiting; He is willing and able to save.
Son of His love, my Saviour died—
Son of His love, was crucified;
He died for all—He died for me;
And when He died, He set me free.
ML-02/11/1979