The sole survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, virtually barren, uninhabited island. He prayed desperately for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted and disillusioned he eventually managed to build a little hut out of the last remaining shreds of driftwood he could gather from the beach to try protect himself from the elements. But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived back at his lean-to hut to find his only source of protection in flames with smoke rolling up into the sky.
This was far too much for him to bear. The worst possible thing had now happened. He was a totally broken man. Everything appeared lost. He was stunned with grief and despair, even anger. At last, after a lonely, bitter, aching spell of tearing grief and disbelief he broke his anguished silence, “God, how could you do this to me!” he screamed into the night sky.
Early the next day, after a long, dark, cold and unforgiving night, he was awakened by the sight and sound of a ship that was slowly approaching the island. It had come to rescue him.
“How on earth did you know I was here?” asked the exhausted man of his rescuers after they had lifted him off his island of doom.
“We never even knew there was an island here … we saw your smoke signal,” they replied.