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. 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 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." 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 if 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 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, 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 He 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. Amen."