Chapter 30
Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die: for I have not found thy works perfect before God.
—Revelation 3:2
The news conference had been two weeks ago. In that time, a special unit had been set up to receive all of those who were signing up to be tested as a possible bone marrow donor for the little girl everybody was now calling Jazz, short for Jasmine. That had come from Jasmine herself.
After the news aired, people wanted to see, if nothing more, a glimpse of the little girl whose story was touching their hearts and garnering conversations from the water cooler to social networks. So one of the news folks convinced Jessica that it would be great if they could get just a few minutes of footage of her daughter to humanize the story even more.
In conjunction with the doctors, who thought a few minutes would be okay, Jessica had agreed. Jasmine had been on for only five minutes and she’d captured hearts. She told them her name was Jasmine, but that she liked being called Jazz.
“Miss Jazz is what my special friend calls me,” Jasmine said, not revealing the name of her special friend. “He’s a doctor who knows how to play a game called Alabama Hit the Hammer. Do you know how to play that game?”
Everybody in the room laughed as a few heads nodded.
“The first time he came, he played that game. He had a piece of hard candy in his hand instead of a rock, which is the way most folks play it. Now when he plays it, he has an encouraging message in whichever hand I pick,” Jasmine said. “My favorite message is this one”—she held up a small slip of paper—“that says, ‘By His stripes, I am healed.’ I keep this one on my night table. My friend explained how Jesus came all the way from Heaven to earth just to save us. Jesus was whipped for nothing that He’d done. But by Jesus’s stripes, I am healed. So whenever I get a little down about my condition, I just read this one. I am healed. God is going to heal me.”
Everybody in Lawrence’s family, except Paris, went to find out if they were a possible candidate to match. Nothing anyone said could make Paris change her mind. She’d made it clear that this was all just for show, since the chances of any of them matching were nil and not worth wasting her time. Besides, it wasn’t like her not doing it was really going to hurt her father’s image. If nothing more, she’d be the one now who appeared the most self-regarding instead of him. And that was fine with her.
It was three days before Christmas when the phone rang. The woman on the other end stated who she was and proceeded to explain why she was calling.
“You’re not going to believe this,” the woman said with joy exuding from her voice. “But the bone marrow transplant recipient you were tested for? Well, you’re a match, an almost perfect match! We need to proceed to the next step in the process now, if you’re willing to do that. Honestly, I can’t even express how thrilled we are. We’re rejoicing here! If you agree and it works, you’ll be saving this little girl’s life!”