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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 CDC 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 young 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 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 down town 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 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 creaming.  He's yelling a name and  waving a clip board.  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 small 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, some folks don't care, 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?"

 "Seeing Jesus through the eyes of God changes things, doesn't it?"

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