While living in Laguna beach, California, I worked with a new congregation near the ocean. One of the members served as a nurse in Fullerton, working in a hospital unit that treated children with terminal cancers and similar deadly diseases. Mary Allison had a hard job. While I admired her consistent concern for the sick, I certainly wouldn't have wanted her job.

One spring morning I received an urgent phone call from Mary. " Robert, I know you speak Spanish and I need you to come at once."

"What's happened?" I asked her.

"We've got a five- year-old child dying of cancer. She can't speak English and neither do her parents. We're desperate to understand what's going on. Please come and help us translate."

"I'll be right there," I assured Mary. "I'm on my way."

When I got to the hospital, I discovered that the family had wandered in from somewhere in the south of New Mexico or Arizona. The little girl, Alicia, had been receiving chemotherapy but was losing ground. The nurses said she'd lost her hair and the bumps covering her body were cancers pushing up to the surface. No one could do anything and the child would soon die. They wanted me to attempt to make some sense out of what she was feeling.

I slipped into Alicia's room and found her sleeping. Just as I had been told, this beautiful little girl had lost all her hair. Across her arms, legs and chest, I could see the telltale tumors that had pressed up under her skin. Her mother and father huddled together in the corner of the room with a look of terror on their faces.

"Como estas ustedes ," I began.
The mother shook her head. "No bien," she lamented.

I tried to understand their history but it was difficult. Eventually I concluded that they spoke that was somewhat like the Tarahumara Indians of a remote area of Northern Mexico. They seemed to have come from somewhere south or maybe west of Nogales in the Sonora area. Their speech was an amalgamation of this dialect with some Spanish and English mixed in. They seemed to be nice people who had wandered into the United States looking for work. Somehow or the other, they had ended up in Los Angeles and they got by the best they could.

When Alicia awoke, I was surprised that her Spanish was much better and more easy to understand. Somewhere along the line she had become more cultured than her parents and had learned the Spanish language well. The child began speaking to me intently. She understood that her life was about to end and she was trying yo comfort her parents. Reversing the child- adult roles, Alicia had actually become their source of solace and she didn't want to tell them how overwhelming her pain actually was. Often this happens with children with children when the parents fall apart.

Alicia told me that her entire body ached. I squeezed her hand and asked her if she had ever been in a church. Alicia said she had no idea what a church was. The five-year-old child had never heard the christain story and had no idea who Jesus was.

For several moments I talked with her about the love of God and how Jesus the Christ had come to set us free from the fear of death. Alicia listened intently and nodded her head knowingly. She seemed quite accepting of what I was saying. Finally, she told me that she wished to go back to sleep because the land of her dreams was so much more pleasant than this World.

"What do you see when you are asleep?" I asked her.
"Oh , I see beautiful creatures!" For the first time Alicia's eyes brightened. "They seem to be flying all around over my bed."
"Really! " My consternation turned towards fascination with what Alicia was saying. The child had never heard of angels and yet she was clearly describing a Christian concept.

" They fly around me and are very, very pretty," Alicia said. "Then there's a man who stands by. He's my friend."
" What's his name?" I asked.
Alicia looked puzzled, "I don't know. I never ask him but I know he's my friend."

" I think his name might be Jesus," I said. "Next time you dream, call him Jesus and see what happens. And I believe what you are seeing flying above you are called angels."
Alicia nodded and went to sleep.

Her parents' grief were so heavy that it was impossible to comfort them while not understanding their native language.
Both the mother and father huddled together, hugging each other and crying. I sat there feeling terrible, trying to help, all the while praying that God would intervene in some way.

An hour later, Alicia woke up again. She beckoned for me to come near so that she could whisper my ear.
"I talked to Jesus," she said. "He is so kind. He told me this was the last time i had come back. Next time I go to sleep I can go home with him. He's going to take care of me."

"Wonderful," I said without really understanding what I was saying.
"Yes," Alicia said. "The time is almost over," she said with unexpected maturity and pressed my hand. "I want to go to sleep now."

The child rolled over and in a few minutes she was gone.
In the midst of her staggering pain, Alicia's was one of the most peaceful deaths I have ever observed.

ROBERT L WISE---Crossing The Threshold Of Eternity.

Tboy222:
While living in Laguna beach, California, I worked with a new congregation near the ocean. One of the members served as a nurse in. Fullerton, working in a hospital unit that treated children with terminal cancers and similar deadly diseases. Mary Allison had a hard job. While I admired her consistent concern for the sick, I certainly wouldn't have wanted her job.

A 5-year-old don't need to be worried about heaven and hell since Jesus Christ didn't put this burden on children but on those old enough to actually process what is His Law, God's New Covenant and Gospel in the Kingdom of God.