The word privilege scarcely describes what I felt bringing Zhya and his mum to the airport. I was there for his surgery day and I won’t ever forget his mother’s heart wrenching anguish, nor my own hopeless resignation to what most of the doctors said, which was that he would not live. So it’s crazy to think that in those agonizing hours of waiting for Zhya to come out of surgery, God not only saw us there, but He saw us as we were today; Zhya, a little boy so healthy that you wouldn’t guess he ever had open heart surgery, and his mother crying tears of joy as she departed for her gate, to go back home with her son alive and so, so well.
When Zhya and his mum were discharged back to the Jaffa base after his surgery about one month ago, it was the day of a goodbye party for another child, and Jonathan pointed out the joy surrounding the occasion was all the more increased because Zhya was back at Shevet. His prognosis, which was projected to be death, was miraculous because against all odds it was life. For all the dark we excepted, it only made the light more powerful and more glorious. And in Zhya’s story we see strands of the Great Miracle: life bursting forth when all men’s conjectures culminated in death. Zhya’s mum agreed with Jonathan, at this party, she said that it was Jesus who had heard our prayers. She knows who it was who healed her son and who gave him life. We pray this knowledge of Jesus only grows more and more in her and her family. Every time they look at Zhya, every time they hold him, they are looking at God’s grace, they are holding His grace. To the true, immortal, and eternal God, we thank you, King, for Zhya’s life, and let us all say amen.