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HomeStorytime!Bible StudiesPoems for the HungryAbout the Author
The Pure One
 
 
 
The day is over, and you're on the way 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 now come to Europe. Panic 
strikes. As best as 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 its 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 
local 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 did he say? He yells 
it again! 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 space for the number of 
pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?" you ask. 
And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no 
idea it would be a child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!" 
You're flabbergasted. The doctor keeps talking, "You don't 
understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. Please. 
We need it... 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?" But how can you walk back to that room 
where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" How 
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, but we've got to get started. People all 
over the world are dying." Could you leave? Could you walk out while 
he is saying, "Dad? Mom? 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 went up 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?" Isn't that what God is 
saying? "MY SON DIED FOR YOU. DON'T YOU SEE 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. 
 

 


"Neither doctrinal purity nor diligent labor will ever be a substitute for passionate devotion to God."

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