Excerpt from the book . . .
“What’s the matter, Sweetie?” I lowered myself onto the bed next to my nine-year-old son, Stephen. His dark brown eyes glistened as he looked at me through swollen eyelids. Streaks of tears coursed their way down his gaunt, pale cheeks. I smoothed his untidy hair from his forehead. “Are you hurting somewhere?”
He rolled his head from side to side on his crumpled pillow.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I-I just want to be well again,” he spluttered before dissolving in tears.
This was the child’s second bout of Rheumatic Fever. The first episode, at the age of seven, kept him confined to bed for four months. This time he had already been at bed-rest for six months. To make matters worse, his six-year-old brother David had been diagnosed with the same disease a few weeks previously. The doctors couldn’t understand how or why both children had the same disease, but the blood tests were indisputable.
I slipped next door to David's room to make sure he had something to keep himself busy.
We had tried putting the two children in the same room, but it didn’t work. Stephen, our dreamer, wanted peace and quiet. He could amuse himself for long periods, and rarely needed company. David's hyperactive nature rebelled against the very concept of rest. He wanted music, noise, games and entertainment all day long.
With relief, I saw David propped up with his headphones on, listening to a story while he colored in furiously. I went back to Stephen.
After a few minutes chatting, he asked me, “Mummy, why doesn’t God make me well? D’you think He’s cross with me?”
“No, of course not. Why would He be cross with you? He loves you very much.”
Stephen chewed his lip as he stared out the window. “Then why doesn’t He show it?”
I shot an emergency prayer heavenwards, as I sought for the right words to help my little boy.
“Stephen, we have to keep praying that you’ll get well soon, and God will answer our prayers.”
“He won't answer my prayers. I’m still little.”
I tried to reassure him. “He especially loves children. Of course He hears your prayers.”
“So can I ask Him for something, and He'll give it to me?”
I swallowed, sensing dangerous territory. “Steve, He will answer. But we have to trust Him to know what's best for us.”
He looked at me intently. “I know what'll be good for all of us.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to go on a holiday. I want to be well, and to be able to swim in the sea and play in the sand.”
My heart seemed to miss a beat. Financially, a vacation like that was out of the question.
We lived in landlocked Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). We drove a small R4 that belonged to the church where my husband pastored. The tiny four-seater was already a squash for us with our three children. Even if we had the money, there was no way we could drive over 820 miles to the sea.
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