15/08/2026
THE PARABLE OF THE DROWNING MAN.
GOD HELP THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES.
WHICH IS NOT BIBLICAL!
THE FIRST RESCUE
IN THE HOSPITAL
There is an old story
about a man caught in a flood.
As the waters rise,
he waits for God to save him.
Help comes.
But he does not recognise it.
He keeps waiting
for the rescue
he believes God will send.
I have always loved God.
I have always trusted Him.
And when I believe He speaks,
I listen.
But sometimes,
the voice we listen to
is not the one we should have followed.
There were moments in my life
when my children came first.
The moustache.
The karate competition.
The bodybuilding.
I listened to them.
I put them before myself.
And then came the day
when I needed to be rescued.
I went to the hospital.
I thought I had found
my first rescue.
The hospital was not
just a building to me.
It was Candos.
And I had already known
what it meant
to fight for my life.
Just beside that hospital
was a football stadium.
I had made a beautiful save
when a player from the opposing team
came at me with both feet forward.
His two feet struck my head
against the upright post.
The referee did nothing.
So I had to do
what I believed was justice
for myself.
I had survived that.
But what happened to me
inside Candos
was something different.
I had entered the hospital
to be cared for.
My first night
should have been a night of safety.
Instead,
my deambulator was taken away.
A sheet was thrown
over another patient.
And I saw things
that no human being
should have to accept
in a place meant
to care for the sick.
Then there was my back.
The bruises.
The pain.
The treatment
I received when I was
at my most vulnerable.
I was not simply
a patient in a hospital bed.
I was a human being
who had entrusted
his life to other human beings.
And that is what made it hurt
even more.
Because a hospital
should never make
a helpless person
feel more helpless.
It should be the place
where dignity is restored.
Where compassion
is not a privilege.
Where the people in white
remember why they are there.
And this is where
the old story of the flood
comes back to me.
The man in that story
was waiting for his rescue.
But before the water
could take him,
he was given warnings.
A warning is not always
the disaster itself.
Sometimes it is the moment
when something tells you:
Pay attention.
Something is not right.
For me,
the hospital was that moment.
I had gone there
believing I had found
my first rescue.
Instead,
I had received
my first warning.
And I did not yet know
what the next one would be.
À SUIVRE…
LA PARABOLE DE L’HOMME QUI SE NOIE
L’HOMME ET LA CRUE
DIEU AIDE CEUX QUI S’AIDENT EUX-MÊMES,
CE QUI N’EST PAS BIBLIQUE.
LE PREMIER SAUVETAGE
À L’HÔPITAL
Il existe une vieille histoire
à propos d’un homme pris dans une crue.
Alors que les eaux montent,
il attend que Dieu vienne le sauver.
De l’aide arrive.
Mais il ne la reconnaît pas.
Il continue d’attendre
le sauvetage
qu’il croit que Dieu lui enverra.
J’ai toujours aimé Dieu.
J’ai toujours eu confiance en Lui.
Et lorsque je crois qu’Il me parle,
j’écoute.
Mais parfois,
la voix que nous écoutons
n’est pas celle que nous aurions dû suivre.
Il y a eu des moments dans ma vie
où mes enfants sont passés avant tout.
La moustache.
La compétition de karaté.
Le bodybuilding.
Je les ai écoutés.
Je les ai placés avant moi-même.
Et puis est venu le jour
où j’ai eu besoin d’être sauvé.
Je suis allé à l’hôpital.
Je pensais avoir trouvé
mon premier sauvetage.
L’hôpital n’était pas
simplement un bâtiment pour moi.
C’était Candos.
Et je savais déjà
ce que signifiait
se battre pour sa vie.
Juste à côté de cet hôpital
se trouvait un stade de football.
J’avais effectué un magnifique arrêt
lorsqu’un joueur de l’équipe adverse
est arrivé vers moi
les deux pieds en avant.
Ses deux pieds ont frappé ma tête
contre le poteau.
L’arbitre n’a rien fait.
J’ai donc dû faire
ce que je croyais être justice
pour moi-même.
J’avais survécu à cela.
Mais ce qui m’est arrivé
à l’intérieur de Candos
était quelque chose de différent.
J’étais entré à l’hôpital
pour être soigné.
Ma première nuit
aurait dû être une nuit de sécurité.
Au lieu de cela,
mon déambulateur m’a été retiré.
Un drap a été jeté
sur un autre patient.
Et j’ai vu des choses
qu’aucun être humain
ne devrait avoir à accepter
dans un endroit destiné
à prendre soin des malades.
Puis il y avait mon dos.
Les ecchymoses.
La douleur.
Les soins
que j’ai reçus alors que j’étais
dans ma plus grande vulnérabilité.
Je n’étais pas simplement
un patient dans un lit d’hôpital.
J’étais un être humain
qui avait confié
sa vie à d’autres êtres humains.
Et c’est cela qui a rendu la douleur
encore plus grande.
Parce qu’un hôpital
ne devrait jamais faire
qu’une personne sans défense
se sente encore plus impuissante.
Il devrait être le lieu
où la dignité est restaurée.
Où la compassion
n’est pas un privilège.
Où les personnes en blanc
se souviennent de la raison
pour laquelle elles sont là.
Et c’est ici que
la vieille histoire de la crue
me revient à l’esprit.
L’homme de cette histoire
attendait son sauvetage.
Mais avant que l’eau
ne puisse l’emporter,
des avertissements lui avaient été donnés.
Un avertissement n’est pas toujours
la catastrophe elle-même.
Parfois, c’est le moment
où quelque chose vous dit :
Faites attention.
Quelque chose ne va pas.
Pour moi,
l’hôpital a été ce moment-là.
J’y étais allé
en croyant avoir trouvé
mon premier sauvetage.
Au lieu de cela,
j’avais reçu
mon premier avertissement.
Et je ne savais pas encore
quel serait le suivant.
À SUIVRE…
THE PARABLE OF THE DROWNING MAN
THE MAN AND THE FLOOD
GOD HELPS THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES,
WHICH IS NOT BIBLICAL.
THE FIRST RESCUE
IN THE HOSPITAL
There is an old story
about a man caught in a flood.
As the waters rise,
he waits for God to save him.
Help comes.
But he does not recognise it.
He keeps waiting
for the rescue
he believes God will send.
I have always loved God.
I have always trusted Him.
And when I believe He speaks,
I listen.
But sometimes,
the voice we listen to
is not the one we should have followed.
There were moments in my life
when my children came first.
The moustache.
The karate competition.
The bodybuilding.
I listened to them.
I put them before myself.
And then came the day
when I needed to be rescued.
I went to the hospital.
I thought I had found
my first rescue.
The hospital was not
just a building to me.
It was Candos.
And I had already known
what it meant
to fight for my life.
Just beside that hospital
was a football stadium.
I had made a beautiful save
when a player from the opposing team
came at me with both feet forward.
His two feet struck my head
against the upright post.
The referee did nothing.
So I had to do
what I believed was justice
for myself.
I had survived that.
But what happened to me
inside Candos
was something different.
I had entered the hospital
to be cared for.
My first night
should have been a night of safety.
Instead,
my deambulator was taken away.
A sheet was thrown
over another patient.
And I saw things
that no human being
should have to accept
in a place meant
to care for the sick.
Then there was my back.
The bruises.
The pain.
The treatment
I received when I was
at my most vulnerable.
I was not simply
a patient in a hospital bed.
I was a human being
who had entrusted
his life to other human beings.
And that is what made it hurt
even more.
Because a hospital
should never make
a helpless person
feel more helpless.
It should be the place
where dignity is restored.
Where compassion
is not a privilege.
Where the people in white
remember why they are there.
And this is where
the old story of the flood
comes back to me.
The man in that story
was waiting for his rescue.
But before the water
could take him,
he was given warnings.
A warning is not always
the disaster itself.
Sometimes it is the moment
when something tells you:
Pay attention.
Something is not right.
For me,
the hospital was that moment.
I had gone there
believing I had found
my first rescue.
Instead,
I had received
my first warning.
And I did not yet know
what the next one would be.
TO BE CONTINUED…
