Please, Lord, rescue me! Come quick Lord and help me. Psalm 40:13
The year was 1937. On a sick bed in Caswell County, North Carolina, a seven-year-old boy lay dying of pneumonia. In 1937, before penicillin and sulfa drugs, pneumonia was death.
It was a lingering death, at that.
As the young boy’s condition worsened, ladies in the neighborhood came to relieve his exhausted mother. They would sit through the night at his bedside, wiping his fevered brow. But their efforts did nothing to slow the gradual strangling as the boy’s lungs filled. He could keep no medication down. He was dying.
At last, the end came. “The last day,” the boy’s doctor said. His name was Dr. Simpson. He had been coming to see the boy twice a day, visiting and treating him in the family home. And now he gave the family the bad news. The boy wouldn’t last the night. The young seven-year-old, although drifting in and out of consciousness, nevertheless heard this. He understood his condition and although he could no longer speak, in his heart and mind he began to pray, “Lord please don’t let me die; it would hurt my mother too much.”
Day drifted into night. The boy, when he was conscious, continued to repeat his simple prayer. And then, in the upper left corner of his darkened room, a light appeared. Out of that light came a voice: “Stop worrying. You are not going to die. Go back to sleep. You need the rest.” Immediately a deep peace came over the boy and he drifted back to sleep.
When the boy next awoke, Dr. Simpson was back, checking his breathing. Daylight filled the room. The boy heard Dr. Simpson tell his parents, “I don’t want to give you false hope, but his vital signs are just a little better than yesterday.” Again the boy slept, and again he awoke to Dr. Simpson checking him. Late afternoon light filled the room. The doctor turned to the boy’s mother and told her, “There is improvement. I think we may be turning the corner.” The boy’s mother left the room so no one would see her tears.
Dr. Simpson turned to pull the boy’s covers back up. As he did, the boy touched his arm and struggled to speak. “I’ll not die,” he rasped out.
Dr. Simpson bent low and spoke softly. “No, Bobby, you’re not going to die.”
He started to rise, but Bobby wasn’t finished. He tugged at the doctor’s arm again. and spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Last night I prayed, ‘Lord, don’t let me die.’ and He answered me. God told me, ‘You are not going to die.”’ That took all the boy’s strength and he collapsed back onto his pillow.
Dr. Simpson leaned close and said, “Bobby, you keep talking to God. He is a better doctor than I am.”
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Bobby would keep talking to God. Through his recovery from pneumonia and through his multiple surgeries as a teenager to recover from the devastating effects of polio, Bobby kept talking to God. And God kept answering with His healing mercy. I know this, because Bobby was, is, Robert Eudean Spencer, my father. And on March 26, 2012, he will celebrate his eighty-second birthday.
God listens. He hears. Put your cares before Him . . . and listen for His answer.
Kevin Spencer lives in Tennessee with his beautiful wife Charlotte and grandson Caleb. He is a staff writer for www.ChristianDevotions.us. A former prodigal son, Kevin is now trying to use the gifts God gave him, and by the grace of God has a life far better than he ever deserved.
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