Tonight just before supper Roland received a call from Lisvi’s father. The family has decided not to travel with us to Antigua. Apparently they can’t bear the thought of leaving Lisvi there, so see no reason to come.
I’m not sure I can describe the emotions welling within me. I want to respect them and their decision. I want to believe that this father is acting in the best interest of his daughter. And I want to live out my belief that God’s will in this little one’s life will be done with or without our help. And it’s hard.
I can’t begin to understand, though, what we are really asking them to do. To us, it’s just a trip to the hospital. To this family, who probably has never been out of their area, we are asking them to leap into the unknown. They have never even seen a doctor (except maybe the “healers” in the area), and how could they imagine a hospital. If they know anything of hospitals, it is probable that they believe that they are where people go to die. In this area, that is too often the case.
I can’t begin to understand, though, what we are really asking them to do. To us, it’s just a trip to the hospital. To this family, who probably has never been out of their area, we are asking them to leap into the unknown. They have never even seen a doctor (except maybe the “healers” in the area), and how could they imagine a hospital. If they know anything of hospitals, it is probable that they believe that they are where people go to die. In this area, that is too often the case.
I hate this feeling of helplessness. I ask God why, if we can’t help them, that He brought her into our lives. Then I remember Dick holding her, and know, if nothing else, we did communicate that God cares deeply about her. Maybe, in this instance, that is more than enough.
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