“Father, keep them safe by the power of Your holy name—the
name You gave me so that their unity may be like Ours." ~ John
17:11
Boomer’s toes were numb from the cave’s
icy waters yet sweat trickled from his matted chestnut hair. His whole body ached as he shifted around in
a cramped position. Grabbing the axe
handle with blistered fingers, he continued to remove coal chunks from the hard
rock surface.
The dim light of a flickering lantern seemed useless against
the deep black darkness. Its diminished
light reflected his sad story. The youthful
vitality that once typified his life had long ago been extinguished. He knew all too well the dangers of working
underground; but this was all he had.
His daddy had been the mine’s head Shot Fire - the one who
drilled and placed explosive charges that blew open the coal seams. He dubbed his son ‘Boomer’ before his life
ended tragically in this very mine.
Momma had no marketable skills. She tried a little waitressing and cooking,
but it wasn’t enough. So Boomer left the
eighth grade to work in the mines: swingin,’ sweatin’ and prayin;’ battling
both fear and fatigue with thoughts of his own family.
Suddenly the roof bolts began to ring and the ground shook
violently. Boomer had heard about what
miners called a ‘bounce,’ but until now had never really experienced one. He looked over at his partner. ‘Spike’ towered well over six feet tall and
gained the nickname because he was ‘hard as nails.’ Now he was ghostly white.
Just before the heavy timber supports snapped and the roof collapsed,
Spike shoved Boomer to safety with a thunderous force.
Acrid dust rose quickly.
Boomer soaked his neckerchief with canteen water to make breathing
easier. Then, fumbling in total
darkness, he found his light. “Praise
God - it still worked!” Euphoria turned
to panic as its illumination fell upon a human form. The strong arm that had shoved him to safety
was all of Spike that remained unburied.
A small hole about the size of a plum allowed some fresh air
in. That was something he
thought. He started singing to drown out
the suffering that tortured him now. “Oh
no, You never let go …” Boomer sang so
loud that he didn’t realize when the other miners went silent.
Tired and afraid, he turned off his lantern and cried
himself to sleep . . . maybe forever!
The cracking sound of picks and shovels woke him. As workers dug to free him from his subterranean
prison, he craved the sweetness of sunlight again. His wife will complain tonight as she washes
dust from his coveralls. She doesn’t need
to know how close he came to death’s door today. But he’ll be back tomorrow . . . it’s all he
knows.
Lord, You know the hell they face. With coal covered faces and hard calloused
hands, they work in dark tunnels that we may be warm, and their own families
may not hunger. Please keep them
safe! Amen
