I'd like to share something with you that happened Sunday. I'm titling this one, "A Human Island in the Sea of Humanity."

We were driving home from our working weekend at the cabin. "Almost there," PW said with a weary, interstate-battled voice. As we took the exit that leads to our home, traffic on the off-ramp seemed a little heavier than normal for a Sunday afternoon. Then we realized that no one was moving forward each time the light changed.

Usually homosapiens' first impulse is to blow the horn. "What the..."?!--that ugly, knee-jerk reaction we humans put out there when we're just physically spent or frustrated and all we want is our favorite chair and the remote control. But no one blew the horn.

Quickly the scenario came into focus: police cars with blue lights blazing and more arriving, until there were at least a half dozen uniformed officers trying to talk a young man out of throwing himself off the overpass into interstate traffic below.

Each time an officer would approach, the young man recklessly threw a leg over the concrete wall. And each time, my palms perspired and I gasped and held my breath. I could not stop the tears. And I could not stop petitioning God for mercy.

What was he doing there, I wondered. And by that I really mean, HOW did he get there, to the emotional place where this seemed like his best--or only--option? Where were his friends? Where was his family? Surely someone loves this young man enough to keep him in this world? What could be SO BAD that taking his own life seemed better?

I had an overwhelming urge to run to him. And I mean I really almost got out of the car. I felt if I could just tell him some pretty little piece of rhetoric that would make it all better--something like "This too shall pass"--he might not do it. If I could just throw my arms around him and tell him he is loved, and cared for, by me--a perfect stranger--perhaps it would make him reconsider. I wanted to tell him I could not bear to see him in such pain that he would consider taking his own life. And if I can care for you without knowing anything about you except that you have come to this overpass as your best option, then how many others who DO know you would be willing to help you down from the ledge?

But I knew I could not do that. God forbid, I step out of the car and approach the young man, and he jumped. Let the police handle it, I told myself. They are trained for this.

So I prayed through my tears. Traffic continued to back up. The police continued to approach him, withdrawing again each time he threatened to jump. The officers continued to talk to the young man--a conversation which I could not hear--assumedly offering words that would convince him to step down. The police kept attempting to approach him; each time the young man would stand up on the ledge, or throw a leg over the side, or lay down on it, as if to just roll off into traffic below. Each time the officers receded, and the young man sat down. But the moment they made any move toward him, that leg was over the side again.

After some length of time another police SUV drove onto the overpass and blocked our view. I could no longer see the young man. I cried and petitioned God all the more, as if my lack of visual verification meant God was on His own. As if God needed MY help.

Several minutes passed. Traffic began to move, and my mind did the quick math: either he had been wrestled to the ground, or he had jumped. I was out of control by this time, balling my eyes out and praying very, very hard.

Almost afraid to look, I glanced in the direction I had last seen him on the ledge. He wasn't there.

He was in handcuffs in the middle of the street, surrounded by law enforcement. Somehow those professional, trained officers turned a potentially tragic situation into a glimmer of hope for the future.

Traffic resumed. Cars that had been backed up onto the interstate began to creep forward again. Everyone had been "inconvenienced" by this young man's crisis. And yet, I heard not a single horn  honk the entire time. I have no idea how other motorists had spent the time when the plans they had were upended, waiting for the police to resolve the situation without harm. For my part, I spent the time bending God's ear. Because that was all I could do. And I believe sometimes that is enough.

I have no clue what brought that young man to the overpass Sunday, or what can keep him off it in the future, but I do know God knows. God knows the plans He has for all of us--plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to give us hope and a future. That Sea of Humanity is fraught with things that can drag us under. But there are also islands. Swim toward them, swim toward each other, swim toward our heavenly Father, and pray hard without ceasing.