A true story by a Doctor who worked in Africa.
‘One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the maternity ward; but in spite of all we did ,she eventually died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter.
We had great difficulty in keeping the baby warm , as we had no incubator. (There was no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts
The student midwife fetched the box we had for such babies and cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another nurse lit up the fire to fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that while filling the bottle, it had burst.
Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. And it was our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.
In Central Africa it could be said :
‘It is no use crying over a burst water bottle.’
‘They do not grow on trees’, and there are no medicine stores down forest pathways.
“All right,” I said, “put the baby as near to the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to prevent it from the cold draft. “Your job is to keep the baby warm.”
The following noon,I went to pray with the orphanage children. as I did on most days. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to make dua for and also told them about the tiny baby who was fighting to stay alive. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle and how it was our only hope to save the baby. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.
During prayer time, a ten-year-old girl, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children.
“Please, Allah,” she prayed, “Send us a hot water bottle. It’ll be no good tomorrow, Allah, as the baby will be dead by then, so please send it this afternoon.”
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer and its demanding nature, she added by way of a corollary,
“And while You are at it ,Oh Allah , would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love her”
As often with children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Ameen?” I had a doubt that this dua (prayer) would be accepted. Nonetheless, I muttered a reluctant Aameen.
Oh, yes, I know that Allah can do everything.
The Holy Qur’aan says so. But there are limits, aren’t there? Or so I thought.
The only way Allah could answer this dua would be for a package to arrive from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
To me receiving a hot water bottle on that afternoon was almost impossible.
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurse’s training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door.
By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two kilogram parcel.
I wondered where it had come from ? and then wondered ,about its contents. I felt tears pricking. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the children from the orphanage.
Together, in excitement and haste we pulled off the string. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it. Some thirty or forty pairs of tiny eyes bursting with curiosity, were focused on the large cardboard box.
From the top, I lifted out brightly coloured, knitted cotton jerseys. Eyes lit up and sparkled and smiles spread out as I handed the children the jerseys. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, at this the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas.
Then…as I put my hand in again, I felt it…could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out …Yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle, I cried. I had not asked Allah to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
The ten year old was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, If Allah has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!"
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small rag dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted her dua being answered.
Looking up at me, she asked: “Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she’ll know Allah really loves her?”
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Sent by my former school class.The leader of the group had heard and obeyed Allah’s prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child- five months before - in answer to the believing prayer of a ten- year-old to bring it “that afternoon.”
"And your Lord says: