It was a scorching summer day—the kind for which Arkansas is famous.  The weather was so oppressive that I could almost see the waves of heat rising from the ground.  Humidity fogged the air, and even the faint breeze felt lukewarm at best.  

And it was only 10:00 in the morning!  I had hoped that going for my daily run at this time would allow me to escape the worst effects of the heat, but after a particularly sunny stretch of road, I couldn’t imagine things being much worse.  With my clothes drenched and my eyes smarting from sweat, I paused for a moment in a rare patch of shade.

Here, I was near the calm waters of Spring Lake, a gorgeous body of water not too far from my house. On this day, the lake looked especially inviting.  Stately shade trees leaned over its shores while purple martins skimmed the surface of the water, the ripples twinkling in the sunlight.  

Mindful of the Bible verse “Lead us not into temptation” (Matthew 6:13 ESV), I averted my eyes so that I would not succumb to the impulse to leap into the lake fully clothed and escape what felt like a giant furnace.  Instead, I glanced down to the side of the road—and I noticed something very unusual.  

It was a shallow stream, more like a trickle, actually—a miniature ravine carved by water runoff.  Just over the edge of the road, it had formed a small pool.  The “pool” had muddy sides and rather stagnant-looking water, and I quickly saw why. In the heat of summer, the water level had dropped, and the ravine was clogged at that point with leaves and sticks. The “dam” had, therefore, created this pool.  

It was a sad-looking place, barely worth a mention, and a far cry from the crystal waters of Spring Lake. But to my astonishment, I noticed a flicker in the murky water.  Tiny fish—probably minnows—were slowly circling the inside of the pool, the sunlight dancing off their scaly backs.  The water was too shallow to provide any relief from the heat, so some of them were burrowing under stones on the bottom, seeking the coolness of shade.  

As I watched, I realized what a tragedy this was for these fish.  Here they were, confined in a tiny, dirty pool full of warm water, with probably a limited food supply as well.  Meanwhile, just a stone’s throw away was Spring Lake.  I imagined these fish encountering the lake, and I considered what a paradise it would seem to them, with crystalline waters, plenty of food, a huge expanse to explore, and cool, shady depths in which to take refuge. The contrast could not have been more striking.

So why?  Why would these fish stay in their cramped, miserable pool when Spring Lake beckons to them half a minute away?  Why would they choose the ravine over the beautiful lake?

The answer, of course, is simple.  The fish don’t stay in the ravine because they want to.  I don’t know much about the cognitive or sensory processes of fish (does anyone?), but if they’re aware that the lake is just around the corner, I suspect they’ve tried everything to escape their prison.  But they can’t.  

These fish can’t swim to the lake, because there’s no water route; and even if there were, they wouldn’t know how to navigate it.  They can’t call for help.  They can’t summon an Uber or get on a plane.  They can’t even get out of their pool and walk across the grass to the lake. They are entirely helpless to free themselves.

And at the sight of those fish drifting around the pool, I couldn’t help but feel sadness for them…because I’ve been them.  I’ve never been trapped in a muddy puddle, but I’ve been snared by other situations. I’ve been the person who raced round and round my prison, frantically searching for a way out.  And just like these fish, I’ve gradually come to the realization that I’m powerless to help myself.  

It’s funny; we humans think we’re smart, strong, capable, and confident, and in some ways, I suppose we are.  We can invent gadgets and build skyscrapers, paint impressive pictures and sail across the oceans.  But in light of the vast immensity of the spiritual world, these accomplishments are no more impressive than a kindergartner’s finger painting.  And when we face the great struggles of life, we are tragically powerless.  We can’t match forces with death, outrun depression, grapple with relationship problems. And most of all, we can’t escape ourselves.

Everyone who has ever been born has come into this world with a huge problem—the life-or-death issue of eternity.  And as sinful people living in a fallen world, we are powerless to secure our own salvation.  We can’t be good enough to climb a ladder to Heaven.  We can’t be holy enough to satisfy the demands of divine justice. When it comes to escaping eternal punishment, we are all the fish in that puddle, trapped with time running out. Indeed, in Romans 5:10, we are described as God’s enemies!

But even those of us who are saved, who have had our sins washed away, still find ourselves in traps. In this world, we face a dichotomy, one Jesus spoke of in John 10:10:  “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.  I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” And every day, in every way, our lives swing toward the thief or toward the Lord.  On one hand is the abundant life Jesus promised—a life full of rich rewards, dense with purpose, where every day has meaning and we walk in showers of grace and mercy.  This life is saturated with enough grace to last three lifetimes, enough grace to transform us and ultimately our world.

It’s close.  We can see it.  We can feel it.  Sometimes, we can even taste it.  But we can’t reach it.

Because in the flip side of the dichotomy, we’re trapped.  Instead of swimming in the lake, we’re slopping in the mud.  And that can keep us living in the stagnant half of the story, the side of the coin that represents only emptiness and brokenness.   

This is what it means to be trapped—to be held back from the life God wants for His people.  The chains we wear come in all different shapes. Maybe you’re a worrier who can’t seem to trust God with today, let alone tomorrow.  Maybe you find yourself constantly on edge; you despise the angry outbursts, but you can’t control them anymore.  Perhaps you’ve felt the grip of addiction; you want to quit, but the pain is too great.  

It’s not important how we become trapped, because the result is the same.  We’re disgusted with ourselves, disconnected from our lives, and distanced from God.  Instead of swimming in the lake, we’re circling a mud puddle, gasping for grace.

Does it surprise you to know that even a revered apostle who wrote half of the New Testament knew this feeling?  Just listen to this passage from the book of Romans.  The despair of these words is agonizingly familiar to us.

“I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate….For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing….So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand.  For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my [body] another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my [body].  Wretched man that I am!  Who will deliver me from this body of death?”  (Romans 7:15-16, 18-19, 21-24 ESV)

“Wretched man that I am!” We’ve all felt that way.  

• I’m a horrible person!  
• Why can’t I stop?  
• I’ll never be a good parent!  
• I can’t keep my temper.  
• How did I end up here?  
• I’ll never beat this thing.

Paul’s honest confession resonates with mud-puddle dwellers.  Quite honestly, though, it also delivers a sobering message—there’s nothing that we can do to rescue ourselves.  This passage highlights the futility of three common “remedies”:  

1. Knowledge.  It’s so easy to believe that if we study the issue a little longer, if we educate ourselves on the morals involved, things will magically improve.  But if anyone knew right from wrong, it was Paul.  Prior to his conversion, he’d trained under the renowned scholar Gamaliel, being groomed to become a member of an elite Pharisaical sect.  He described himself as “circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless” (Philippians 3:5-6 ESV).  Certainly, Paul’s credentials were impressive and would have been considered by his culture as more than sufficient to obtain God’s approval.  Yet he concludes his resuméwith this simple phrase:  “But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ” (Philippians 3:7 ESV).  Paul had ample knowledge and a veneer of religiosity to accompany it—but it didn’t change his life.
2. Willpower. We can’t summon enough inner strength or personal potential to free ourselves. The effort is as hopeless and defeating as ordering those fish in the puddle to sprout legs and walk to Spring Lake. It’s not only improbable; it’s impossible.   
3. Planning. This is the lie of “I’ll do better next time.”  A tendency to downward spirals is hardwired into human nature.  We may have good intentions, but that’s not enough to effect change.  

And when we’ve tried every shot in our locker, when we’re exhausted and spent from the effort, when our last manmade hopes lie dead around us, this is when it becomes terrifying. Because we’re so close—so close—to the abundant life.  We can see it from the heat of our puddle.  But we can’t get there on our own.

But wait!  Don’t miss Paul’s last line.  Because this, my friends, is the sentence that changes everything.  “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25 ESV)

Through Jesus Christ.

It’s impossible for us to rescue ourselves spiritually.  And that’s why it’s so easy to despair when we find ourselves caught in our own traps. We instinctively know that there is no way out.  We forget, however, that God loves us radically.  His mercy is unfathomable.  “God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8 ESV).  We can’t bridge the gap between a stolen life and a sacred life.  However, Jesus can—and the best news is, He is more than happy to do it.

Yes, as humans, we know all about traps.  But as Christians, we also know about a God greater than our traps—a God Who breaks every chain, opens every prison door, and rescues every oppressed soul.  

Did you enjoy this post? What are some “puddles” from which Jesus has rescued you? Let me know in the comments! Also, for a wonderful song about the God’s saving power, click here!