Sacrificial Love

      Tonight, I talked to my son about the Ebola outbreak in Africa. This wasn't the first time. We talked last week when I read the news and saw that the young doctor had been affected. I told Jake what happened and called him to a task, "Pray hard." The story moved my heart, hurt my heart, burdened my heart, and for days I prayed for healing for Dr. Brantley. As the details unfolded and his age became published, quotes from his family, and pictures of his young children, I prayed all the more. I reminded Jake just days ago, "Don't forget to pray for that doctor. He is a missionary." Then, we talked about what it meant to be a missionary. I told him that our roommate from last year, Nicolas, had learned about Jesus when missionaries visited a remote country in Africa. His chief accepted Jesus, and later the mayor. Nicolas is very special to us. I told Jake about Sonja and Andrew, his aunt and uncle that he adores, and reminded him that they had spent nine months in Africa learning and participating in mission work. Then, I told him about Jim Elliot, a missionary who had given his life to serve others. The devil is not such a fan of missionaries, for obvious reasons. 

When I read headlines of the young doctor being brought to America, such hope began to rise within me- YES! America, you are the one. You are a safe place. America, you have always stood as a beacon of hope! 

        Anyway, my hope was immediately offended- if hope can be offended, by the comments I have read beneath the trending articles on facebook. I realized very quickly I was in the minority. Tonight I explained to my son the situation at hand: Missionary from America is sick with deadly disease, that can be contagious. Contagious means people can get it. He was in Africa, with lots of other sick people. The remote areas of Africa do not have very good medical care, that is why an American missionary went there. What should we do? Like a well-trained little disciple he answered, "Pray!" I goaded him onward, "Yes, we are going to keep praying. What else?" He said, "Get him to a hospital that can help him!" I asked him the obvious questions, "What if other people get sick?" 

     And still, his innocent mind wasn't grasping how we could leave this American doctor in Africa. Don't hear me say that Ebola isn't frightening, or that I wouldn't hold my babies a little closer if I lived in Atlanta by Emory Hospital. I'm just saying that it's important to ME to teach MY children that putting your life on the line for another is the ultimate picture of love. Sacrifice equals love. The emergency personnel that ran into the twin towers on 9/11 and gave their lives. To save one person, if they were able. The parents that wrap their arms around helpless infants and jump from multiple story windows when a fire is raging. Pedestrians that hold tight to car accident victims, and they themselves are side-swiped and their life ended. Sacrifice. The truth is, a positive truth that perhaps many avoid in the light of heightened drama, is that maybe no one will be sacrificed in this ordeal. Maybe this doctor will become well, and this will all blow over in another week or so and be replaced with another "Your lives are in imminent danger!" story. That is my hope- sort of. In either case, I explained to Jake both sides of the spectrum and told him why I was glad the doctor was in America. Yes, it could present a potential danger. It's a sacrifice to bring him here. But, we're America. We're the best.

And P.S: Were all going to die some day.