I was guarding the gate for the family section of camp. It was quiet, just before 9. It was a beautiful morning. I took advantage of the stillness and started into my quiet time with the Lord.
Then over the radio, my section was called out. I responded, still hesitant on how communication over the radios goes here since all I really know are ten codes from my reporting days.
I was asked to go to the police station directly across from me and ask for the military doctor. I don’t know why. Through the language gap, I was finally able to get the officers to understand. They tell me the doctor is not there.
I’m trying to communicate back over the radio what I was told, but I can’t get through the chatter. Then my shift leader runs into the police station.
We don’t run in camp. It creates panic.
“We have a dead baby. Where is the doctor?” My shift leader rushes past me and starts talking to the police.
I just stand there in shock as the words sink in. I tell him the doctor is not in. He asks for an ambulance.
I start walking back to my gate, tears start to fill my eyes. My team leader, Ian, says, “Now is the time to start praying.” And we did.
I didn’t even get back to my gate before my shift leader asks me if anyone on our team had any medical training. I don’t know why I said it, but I replied, “If anyone does, it would be Payden.” I look through the main gate, and I see Payden walking down with a man, a little boy trotting behind, and in the man’s arms, a tiny, limp girl in her father’s desperate arms.
The next thing I remember was watching that tiny group rush into the police station. Another volunteer rushed out of the gate I was working and joined them.
I hear a shout for scissors. I start to look and ask around for some. I hear a request for blankets. I have one, and I hand it to my shift leader. I’m standing at the gate, pleading with God. The shift leader rushes out again, asking for another blanket. I know where one is. I grab it, but don’t see him anymore. I run into the police station.
The first thing I saw was my teammate, Payden, giving CPR with Isabelle. I see the little girl’s brother. I stoop down to his level, motioning for him to come to me. He walks to his father. Someone asks for the blanket. “I have it,” I answer.
I start wrapping the little girl up. She is frozen. Her dark eyes are filled with peace.
Someone hands me a hot bottle of milk. I unwrap her, place it between her legs, and wrap her back up.
Payden has not stopped giving CPR. Watching them is giving me hope, but deep down each of us knew the truth.
All I know to do is pray. I reach my hand to Payden’s back and I just ask God to heal this child, give Payden strength and endurance, give Isabelle peace, comfort for the family, guide the doctors, and wrap this child in His arms either here or there in heaven.
I ask my shift leader why there were no doctors at the camp. He said it was because it was Sunday. Everything shuts down on Sundays. The doctors just leave. Finally, the medics arrive.
They take her and her father away. Payden, Isabelle, and I just wrap up in each other’s arms as we start to cry. Again, all I could do was pray.
It’s been a little more than 48 hours since this happened now that I write this. I can still see her. Even as I write this, I have to pause. It rips through me. I’m so angry, but at the same time there is a joy, a peace, and faith. Why did I just write joy?
That night as a team we prayed together for the family. As Derek was praying, I saw that beautiful little girl running down the hill of the camp in the middle of the night towards the gate. Jesus was standing there at the entrance, waving at her…waiting for her. He was completely lit up. He took her by the hand, and they walked off. It was beautiful. It was joyous.
I will probably continue to write about this as I continue to grieve, process, and serve. Our team would appreciate your prayers, words, and support. Please continue to pray for this family as they grieve, and pray that Papa shows Himself to them.
I can’t share names or the location due to legal reasons her, but I can tell you she has been laid to rest. She had severe disabilities, and is now fully healed with Papa.
