I’m guessing that at some point in your life, you’ve seen an old TV show or movie that includes a scene similar to the following:

A train is coming down the tracks. Steam rises from its stack as it chugs along. The train zips past mountains, trees, lakes (or perhaps cacti and coyotes, depending on the show). The engineer is in the cab, secure in the fact that the train is on the tracks, perfectly safe, heading toward its destination. The passengers are chatting, reading the newspaper, or maybe taking a snooze, oblivious to anything going on outside.

The camera switches to another location. Here there are more train tracks, but — wait! what’s this? The tracks come to a sudden end and plunge off a cliff! There’s a sign a short distance from the cliff:

Something has gone horribly awry and any train that attempts to follow these tracks will meet sure and sudden doom.

Now the camera alternates between the moving train and the end of the tracks, quickly, multiple times, making it clear that the train full of people is indeed headed for tragedy. The engineer and the passengers are clueless — they think everything is going to be just fine, that they’ll end up safe and sound at the end of the line. But you, the viewer, know differently. Things will not be fine at all.

Then, suddenly, the camera zooms in on a portion of the tracks somewhere between the train and the cliff. Here you see a railroad switch — you know, one of those sections of track where a train can be manually guided from the track it’s on to an alternate track, with merely the pull of a lever. Ah-ha! There is hope!

With only moments to spare, you see that someone who knows the bridge is out has also realized that a train is barreling toward destruction. Maybe this someone works for the railroad company; maybe it’s just one of the local townsfolk who has the opportunity to save some lives. Whoever it is, he races toward the railroad switch, intent on pulling the lever in order to guide the train to safe passage.

As the camera continues to flip (with appropriate suspenseful music in the background!) between the cliff , the racing train, and the would-be hero, you wonder: Will he make it to the switch in time? Will the lever work or will it be stuck in place from years of disuse and rust? Will the train plunge off the cliff, taking all its passengers along for the deadly ride, or will the day end with sighs of relief and gratitude from the now-safe travelers?

Sound familiar?

In so many ways, I feel like I have been watching this scene, over and over again, for the last couple months. Maybe you’ve been here, too: a loved one — maybe a friend, a family member — is that train. They’re making decisions at a rapid pace, unaware that the path they’re following ends in destruction. The bridge is out. All assumptions that “things will be fine” are unfounded. You know it. Others know it. But the person you love can’t see it. They can’t — or won’t — see the cliff around the corner.

At times, I’ve felt like the would-be hero, racing for the railroad switch. I’ve grabbed the lever, pulled at it with all my might, to no avail. I’ve hoped that my words or my actions or my prayers would somehow move the lever, guide the train to safety. But the train has continued along its dangerous track. I am a failure when it comes to track-switching.

I’ve jumped up and down in front of the train, waving my arms wildly, trying to communicate to the engineer that danger lies ahead. But still, the train raced on.

In a way, it felt like the train went off the cliff this weekend. Decisions were made, tracks were laid. I am tempted to feel despair, to give up. But sometimes answering a 9-year-old’s questions helps me see reality a little more clearly.

C., who has known about the racing train for a while, looked at me on Saturday and said, “So it’s too late now? There’s no hope?” Instinctively, I responded with, “There’s always hope, C.. With God, all things are possible. Even though things look bleak now, God can do miracles.” That quick response, harvested from years of Sunday School and Bible study, meant to reassure a little boy that God can do anything, has taken root in my heart. C. fortified it further when he said, “It’s times like this that I’m glad for that verse that says God will work things out for good for those who love Him.”

It’s not easy to feel hopeful when all we can see are cliffs and danger and racing trains. And it’s far too easy to be discouraged, even despairing, when all our efforts are fruitless, when we try to help and to save and to love, but get nowhere. When the lever is stuck. When the engineer holds to his perilous course.

But when we get right down to it, when we remember and embrace the truth, we have to acknowledge God is the one in charge of track-switching, in charge of saving lives. God knows what lies beyond the end of the tracks. God can take a “bridge is out” tragedy and turn it into something amazing. We do our part, we pray for wisdom, and we reach out in love, but in the end, we have to leave the ultimate destiny of those racing trains in His loving hands.

Psalm 33 tells us:

No king is saved by the size of his army;
no warrior escapes by his great strength.

A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
despite all its great strength it cannot save.

But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love.

In the same way, no racing-train loved one is saved by my measly efforts at switching the tracks. I am a vain hope for deliverance; I cannot save. But I know where hope and deliverance are found. So with the psalmist, I will say:

We wait in hope for the LORD;
he is our help and our shield.

In him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in his holy name.

May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD,
even as we put our hope in you.

If you’re facing a “bridge is out” situation right now, if you see danger around the corner — either for you or for someone you love — I urge you to place your hope in God. The trains, and the cliffs, are in His hands. And His unfailing love is real and powerful.