A Mother’s Plea

Commencing my daily 4 km walk, I was suddenly confronted by a desperate mother.

She sprung forth from a car that was backing out of a driveway. She began shouting in my direction and ran toward me. In her arms was a limp baby girl.

English was not the first language of these recent migrants, but a mother’s plea for “help” can be understood by all.

The mother begged me to drive their car and speedily take her daughter any place where help could be found. Through the sobs, shouting, surprises; in seconds of time, I learned the baby had fallen and stopped breathing.


The grandfather willingly moved from the driver’s seat and became my co-pilot. I set the hazards flying, the headlights beaming, and the horn honking. I crossed through intersections with red lights during one of the busiest times on one of busiest roads in West Auckland. The “flight” from my suburb to the local hospital was soared at great speed.

All the while Mum was understandingly begging for help—and for me to hurry.

As she clung to her dying infant and comforted a toddler beside her in the back seat, the atmosphere charged me to land my car-plane speedily. 

I am happy to report the baby was resuscitated without incident. After ministering to the grandfather and his step-daughter, I returned to Grandma. She was relieved beyond description when I motioned to her that baby is “okay”. She immediately responded by putting her hands together and lifting them upwards with her eyes toward Heaven.

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The above incident is a true story drawn from my diary. By God’s grace, I have lived a full life here in Aotearoa.