Last September Zibby shared a hospital room at Boston Children's with a little girl named Julia.
Julia was recovering from a double hip replacement. The beautiful, blonde, twelve year old was born with an overwhelming amount of disabilities. Julia's mother was the definition of "vigilance". I have no doubt that for more than a decade she has been Julia's voice, nurse, comforter, & servant. Love fuels her.
While Zibby rested somewhat peacefully, Julia, just on the other side of our "curtain wall", moaned in pain. At times I could hear her mama whispering to her or even singing to her. And I prayed for them both.
Zibby grew more concerned as the night progressed. Neither of us could sleep. We felt uncomfortably helpless.
It took most of that endless night for Julia to find relief and sleep.
By the time the sun rose, both of our girls were feeling a bit better, well enough in fact to take a good look at each other. Although Julia's communication skills were limited, she spoke volumes through her smile. A language that little Zibby clearly understood. Julia had a baby doll that she wanted to show to Zibby, and in their childlike way they communicated encouragement and friendship.
That was over nine months ago, but Zibby has not forgotten her friend. Just last night at prayer time she said, "Mommy, remember my friend Julia? We should pray for her."
More than once on our way to school or just out of the blue, Zibby will say, "Oh! Remember my friend Julia? She was my friend when I was at the hospital. We need to pray for her."
The suffering that we witnessed Julia and her mother endure cannot be forgotten in Zibby's heart. It cultivated the seeds of compassion and intersession in her life.
Julia is one of those souls that I can't wait to meet up with in eternity.
I have a feeling that she and Zibby will have a lot of catching up to do.