The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio.
You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers
have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been
seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are
dead, and it's kind of interesting. They're sending some doctors over there
to investigate it. You don't think much about it, but on Sunday,
coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's
not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this
particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a
little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta
because this disease strain has never been seen before. By Monday
morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For it's not just India;
it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing
this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery
Flu." The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying
and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How
are we going to contain it?" That's when the President of France makes an
announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No
flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has
been seen. That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going
to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated
from a French news program into English: "There's a man lying in a
hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. "It has come to Europe. Panic
strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week and
you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms.
Then you die. Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South
Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the
President of the United States makes the
following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all
flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones
are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure
for this thing. Within four days our nation has been plunged into an
unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face.
People are talking about what if it comes to this country, and
preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God. "It's Wednesday
night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from
the parking lot and says, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio."
While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone
stuck up to it, the announcement is made," Two women are lying in a
Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu." Within hours it
seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around
the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California,
Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just
sweeping in from the borders. Then, all of a sudden the news comes
out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be
made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected,
and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those
channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing:
"Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all
we ask of you.
When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make
your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals." Sure enough,
when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there
is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and
pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your
wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they
say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you
can be dismissed and go home." You stand around scared with your
neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on, and that this is the
end of the world.
Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's
yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your
son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know
it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold it!" And they
say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make
sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type,"
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying
and hugging one another some are even laughing. It's the first time you
have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and
says "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is
pure, and we can make the vaccine." As the word begins to spread all
across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying
and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and
your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment?
We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need. . .
we need you to sign a consent form." You begin to sign and then you
see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how
many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says,
"We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it
all!" "But but..." "You don't understand. We are talking about the world
here. Please sign. We - we need it all - we need it all!" "But can't you
give him a transfusion?" "If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign?
Would you sign?" In numb silence you do. Then they say,
"Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?" Can you walk back?
Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying,
"Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son,
your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen
to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?" And when
that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've -- we've got to
get started. People all
over the world are dying." Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is
saying, Dad? Mom? Dad? Why - why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and
some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because
they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just
pretend to care.
Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T
YOU CARE?"
Is that what God is saying? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW
HOW MUCH I CARE?"
"Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we can
begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen "
* Author Anonymous
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