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, and 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. There are no
flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has
been seen. And that's why 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. And then you
die.
Britain closes its borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool,
North Hampton, and its 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."
And 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.
And 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. And 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 on! 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, praying, laughing, and crying.
But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and you 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, some
folks sleep through it, 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 wants to say? "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."
You can now SPREAD THE GOSPEL!!