Do Your Utmost: Chapter 17

Seventeen: Outside Troas

Everything hurt. He could not move, or open his eyes. Pain throbbed through his whole body, and all he could hear was a faint moaning sound. After a moment, he realized he was the one making the noise. He was lying on the ground, on his back, with cold rocks pushing into his sore body.

Forcing himself to concentrate, he raised his eyelids. His eyes itched and stung, but he could see nothing. The events of the night came back to his mind, and he was vaguely astonished that he was alive still. It must still be dark out, since the world was just as black with his eyes open as when they had been shut. Had the crowd abandoned their sport after he lost consciousness? Was John Mark alive as well? The thought made him raise his head and try to look around, but a wave of agony overwhelmed him, and he fell back, sick and dizzy.

Fighting to remain awake, he moved his arms back and forth, feeling the ground. This did not cause unbearable suffering, so he used his elbows to raise one side of his body a little. With a mighty heave, he flipped himself onto his stomach. The effort left him weak, his head swimming and one leg throbbing. Using his arms now, he lifted his head off the ground a little. As his vision cleared, he could make out the indistinct shapes of a few rocks and trees in the darkness. Turning his head as far as he could, he saw a black lumpy outline against the flatness of the horizon. It might be Mark, but he could not tell for sure.

One leg was useless. Any attempt to move it sent stabs of pain through him, making him groan aloud. He tried the other leg, bending his knee, and pushing himself forward a few inches. Getting his arms underneath him, he raised himself onto his hands and one knee, and began crawling toward the shape, dragging his other leg, slightly bent, behind him.

Halfway to his goal, he had to stop. As nausea washed over him, he curled up on the ground, heaving and gagging. At length the queasiness subsided, and he resumed his painful progress. Now he could tell that the huddled mass he was trying to reach was no rock or shrub. When he reached the object, he saw that it was John Mark, but his face was covered by a fold of his cloak. He was not moving. Timothy could not tell if he was even breathing.

All the muscles of his body ached, and he collapsed on the ground next to the other man. With one arm, he reached up and pulled the cloth away from Mark’s face. He was lying on his side, his legs curled up against his chest, and his arm twisted at an impossible angle behind his back. Timothy decided it must be broken or dislocated. He could not get Mark onto his back without the likelihood of further injuring the arm, so he leaned over him as he was, fumbling to find his pulse.

There was nothing for a moment, and he moved his fingers slightly. Dear Lord, please let him live. Under his fingertips there was an almost imperceptible flutter. He pressed harder, and could feel the throb more certainly. It was weak and irregular, but it was there. He breathed a sigh of relief, and his head sank down on his friend’s shoulder.

My friend. When did Mark become my friend? Timothy was surprised that he cared so much about this man, whom he had only known for a few weeks. They had gone through hardships side by side, yes, and that brought them closer. Still, all their disagreements, the angry words that had passed between them remained in his mind. There was much to admire in Mark, Timothy realized. Perhaps his initial animosity had first begun to change to comradeship when they had laughed together about the terrible quality of the meat on board ship. In Troas, they had the same goal, and Mark had invested his time and energy in helping Timothy as much as he could. All this had lead to him receiving that wicked blow, because he turned back to Timothy’s aid.

Tiredness weighed down every limb of his body as he lay there next to Mark, these thoughts swirling through his mind. Though he thought that the pain of his bruises and scrapes would not let him sleep, he closed his eyes, shutting out the looming blackness of the night. They were exposed here, so close to the city still, but there was nothing more he could do.

God, be our refuge and strength, for my strength is gone. Help us now in our trouble. Peace crept into his heart, and he drifted off to sleep.