Hosanna Revisited

(This blog is a rerun from 2018.)

When someone entrusts a 22-month-old child to you for a weekend, you’d really like to hand the child back in the same condition you received him.

I was babysitting my grandsons on the weekend of Palm Sunday. At church, the boys enjoyed marching around with palm fronds and seeing grandpa play guitar. Pastor Mark’s message included a mini-sermon on the meaning of “hosanna.” It’s a marvelous word with the root meaning of “saves.” It can be translated “He saved,” “He saves,” “He will save,” and “Save us!” Hosanna is a promise, plea and praise wrapped into one.

Palm Sunday evening, the littlest grandson spiked a fever. The next day, his fever went away, but he seemed unusually tired. Monday night, he seemed to sleep ok, though I noticed his breath particularly because his belly was going in and out, and the breaths seemed frequent—but no fever. Tuesday morning, I left the boys in the hands of their nanny and went home, planning to rejoin the boys for dinner. Their mom and dad were due home in the early evening, so we were in the home stretch of the extended weekend.

I rested a bit at home and then did a search of “fast breathing” with “two-year-old.” The results were alarming. I called my daughter and headed back to Seattle, with a call in to the family doctor’s office. My daughter called back almost immediately and said the nanny was taking the boys directly to the emergency room at Children’s Hospital in Seattle, and I should meet them there.

My heart was pounding and my mind was racing. I forced myself to focus on safe driving as I blazed west on 520. One word rose up within me – Hosanna! Oh, Jesus – hosanna! Have mercy on this little one! Hosanna became my word of the day, my hope and my peace with a mind full of fear.

There were only a few people ahead of us at the emergency room. My daughter was available by phone to give medical history and approve treatment. Soon, the little guy was in the hands of a doctor. Hosanna – thank you! The first hour-long treatment didn’t reduce his symptoms, so we started on a second treatment. Hosanna – let it be successful!

All afternoon, the little guy and I were glued together, with him reclining on my chest. The emergency room staff were making plans to admit him to the hospital. Meanwhile, my daughter and her husband had boarded their plane and were out of communication for a few hours. Hosanna, Lord Jesus, we’re in Your hands!

By the time my daughter’s plane landed at dusk, the little guy’s vitals were improving and the staff gave him a 50% chance of going home. Hosanna, thank you! Please make it 100%! By the time my daughter walked into the room and scooped up her little son, the chart read, “Going home.”

Hosanna, Hosanna to the King of Kings!