Witness Wednesday #193 A Girl Looking For A Dad

Impossibile aggiungere al carrello

Puoi avere soltanto 50 titoli nel carrello per il checkout.

Riprova più tardi

Rimozione dalla Lista desideri non riuscita.

Riprova più tardi

Non è stato possibile aggiungere il titolo alla Libreria

Per favore riprova

Non è stato possibile seguire il Podcast

Per favore riprova

Esecuzione del comando Non seguire più non riuscita

Witness Wednesday #193 A Girl Looking For A Dad

Ascolta gratuitamente

Vedi i dettagli del titolo

3 mesi a soli 0,99 €/mese

Dopo 3 mesi, 9,99 €/mese. Si applicano termini e condizioni.

A proposito di questo titolo

Today’s Witness Wednesday is a story I read on Facebook today. I felt it was a great example of how God works through people and brings them together in the most unusual ways. We might not always understand what God is doing, or why He has brought certain people into our lives, but He always has a plan. The plan might not unfold for years, but one day it will make sense. I am sure the biker in this story had no idea his weekly visits to the Children’s hospital would end the way they did. But I am sure it all makes sense to him now. Here is his story.I'm a 58-year-old biker named Mike. I've got tattoos covering both arms, a beard down to my chest, and I ride with the Defenders Motorcycle Club.I volunteer at the Children's Hospital every Thursday, reading books to sick kids. It's something our club started doing fifteen years ago after one of our brothers' granddaughters spent months in pediatric oncology.Most kids are scared of me at first. I get it. I'm big and loud and look like I should be in a motorcycle gang movie, not a children's hospital. But once I start reading, they forget about how I look. They just hear the story.That's what I thought would happen with Amara.I walked into room 432 on a Thursday afternoon in March. The nurse had warned me this was a new patient. Seven years old. Stage four neuroblastoma. No family visits in the three weeks she'd been admitted."No family at all?" I'd asked.The nurse's face had gone tight. "Her mother abandoned her here. Dropped her off for treatment and never came back. We've been trying to reach her for weeks. CPS is involved now but Amara doesn't have any other family. She's going into foster care once she's stable enough to leave.""And if she's not stable enough?"The nurse looked away. "Then she'll die here. Alone."I stood outside room 432 for a full minute before I could make myself go in. I've read to dying kids before. It never gets easier. But a kid dying completely alone? That was a new kind of hell.I knocked softly and pushed open the door. "Hey there, I'm Mike. I'm here to read you a story if you'd like."The little girl in the bed turned to look at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen. Her hair was gone from chemo. Her skin had that grayish tone that means the body is struggling. But she smiled when she saw me."You're really big," she said. Her voice was small and raspy."Yeah, I get that a lot." I held up the book I'd brought. "I've got a story about a giraffe who learns to dance. Want to hear it?"She nodded. So I sat down in the chair next to her bed and started reading.I was halfway through the book when she interrupted me. "Mr. Mike?""Yeah, sweetheart?""Do you have any kids?"The question hit me hard. "I had a daughter. She passed away when she was sixteen. Car accident. That was twenty years ago."Amara was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "Do you miss being a daddy?"My throat tightened. "Every single day, honey.""My daddy left before I was born," she said matter-of-factly. "And my mama brought me here and never came back. The nurses say she's not coming back ever."I didn't know what to say to that. What do you say to a seven-year-old who's been abandoned while dying?Amara kept talking. "The social worker lady said I'm going to go live with a foster family when I get better. But I heard the doctors talking. They don't think I'm getting better.""Sweetheart—""It's okay," she said. Her voice was so calm. Too calm for a seven-year-old. "I know I'm dying. Everyone thinks I don't understand but I do. I heard them say the cancer is everywhere now. They said maybe six months. Maybe less."I set the book down. "Amara, I'm so sorry."She looked at me with those huge eyes. "Mr. Mike, can I ask you something?""Anything, honey."She looked at me with those huge eyes. "Mr. Mike, can I ask you something?""Anything, honey.""Will you be my daddy… until I die?"The room went still. Even the monitors seemed to hush. I felt every one of my fifty-eight years settle on my shoulders like lead.I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first. All I could see was my own daughter’s face at sixteen, laughing in the rear-view mirror the last time I ever saw her alive. All I could feel was the hole that had lived in my chest ever since.Amara didn’t blink. She just waited, small and brave and impossibly calm.I wanted to say yes. God help me, I wanted to say yes so badly my bones ached. But I was just a rough old biker who showed up once a week with picture books. I rode loud, drank hard, and still woke up some nights yelling my dead daughter’s name into an empty house. What did I know about being anyone’s father again, even for a little while?I swallowed the rock in my throat. “Honey… I’d be honored. But I gotta be honest with you—I’m not very good at this daddy thing anymore. I might mess it up.”Her whole face lit up like sunrise. “That’s okay. You can practice on me.”And just like that, I had a daughter again.The nurses cried ...

Ancora nessuna recensione