On Sunday the young missionaries asked me for a ride on Tuesday to see a family who wasn’t returning their calls or text messages. “We’ll be fasting and praying for them all day,” one said. A 60 mile drive on back roads to visit a family who wasn’t responding. Whatever.
Off we went on Tuesday just a short hour and a quarter drive away to see the family who might or might not be home. They were. A medical crisis. Just an hour before, the father had checked himself out of one hospital while in critical condition and refused to go to the bigger, better hospital.
He was obviously in terrible pain, upset, angry and stubborn. He was not going back to the hospital. Period. He suffers from the same chronic illness of diverticulitis I just started having. “Talk to him,” said the Spirit. I did, gently stroking his shoulder and looking deep into his eyes, using a quiet but firm voice as I explained the danger he was in. He finally agreed to having an ambulance come.
A few minutes into the ambulance ride he had a seizure but they stabilized him and got him to critical care where he was put in an induced coma and on life support while the medical team worked to save him.
“Thank you for coming,” said his wife. “He would not listen to us. If you hadn’t come, if you hadn’t said what you did…”
It wasn’t me. It wasn’t even the sisters faith and prayers. It was God knowing where we needed to be and when to help one of his beloved children. It was God knowing who would listen and go. Just like you do.
Thank you for all you do.