Rescued from the pit

 

Last week's rescue of the thirty-three Chilean miners from their sixty-nine-day entombment is indeed one of the best feel-good stories of the year, possibly even the decade. It is rare, in the history of global mining disasters, that so many miners remained alive for so long, with so happy an ending.

It may not start with "once upon a time," but it should end with "happily ever after."

I can't possibly even start to imagine how I would handle being a) underground for so long; b) not totally confident that I would get rescued in the end; and c) devoid of most of life's basic necessities for weeks on end. I know practical things were sent down on a daily basis, but that is not the same as having them in a natural, normal way.

And when I speak of life's basic necessities, I'm not talking about cell phones, laptops, or iPods, people; I am talking about the thrill of eating regular meals, of enjoying fresh air, of even getting up and going to work everyday. Those seemingly basic pleasures were beyond the reach (literally) of these men, and it will be interesting to hear how they battled the daily monotony of confined living, week in and week out. I'm sure there are a few bestsellers in the works.

For me, there are a few jobs in this world that I could never do, no matter what the incentives were. Among them: emergency room doctor, funeral director, kindergarten teacher, and airline steward. And, of course, a miner of any sort.

My chest even tightens as I write this, as I think of any miner descending deep into the bowels of the earth. Down below, there is no daylight, no fresh air, no immediate access to the surface. It's like a grand tomb, a huge cemetery plot, if you will. I maintain the underground is for rabbits, gophers, and badgers. If the Lord above wanted me to earn a living below, I'm sure He would have given me more hair and a bushy tail.

I am beyond claustrophobic: freezers and closets have their own special terror for me. Maybe that's why I like the prairies so much—looking at wide open spaces, singing, "Don't Fence Me In." I am even selective where I sit in public places; close to an aisle, if possible; maybe even an aisle and a window, if I'm lucky. And if not either one of those, at least near a fire exit.

So these Chilean miners are heroes to me, in a sense, on at least two counts: They chose a job that needed to be done, a job that I couldn't do (but then again, maybe they couldn't teach junior high Grammar); and they co-existed with each other for weeks on end, and seemingly kept in good spirits doing it. I tend to go batty just waiting in the truck at Wal-Mart.

Another significant factor in all of this was the faith of many, if not all, of the miners. I see where Bibles, prayers, and God were a vital part of their daily routine. It usually takes a disaster, a confrontation with one's mortality, to recognize the crucial role faith plays in our lives.

Adjusting to life above for these guys will one long story and I'm sure the media will be full of every intriguing nuance in the months to come. Thirty-three men, crammed together in such a small space for so long, may find that it will take months, possibly even years, to get back to the normalcy of marriage and family, work and leisure, and life in general.

And before we hand out bouquets only to those underground, there were many above the mine who waited, planned, hoped, prayed, and strategized the whole time. There is a host of family members, mine officials, local politicians, and rescue workers that deserve international applause. Thirty-three men were not rescued by simply passing a bill or draping a banner over a corporate headquarters. It took selfless initiative on the part of many. Various people rose to the occasion, putting aside their petty differences, with lives being saved as a result.

In a world where the words Taliban, recession, gang warfare, and Paris Hilton fill our newspaper headlines, it is indeed a great day to read of people putting themselves out for others, or better stated, others looking out for others.

Thank you, people of Chile; you taught us a great lesson.