Same roots

I met Mrs. Li last week. My guide mistook her for the mother of another baby whom I played for. We exchanged a few words in Mandarin, but I did not get a chance to play for her baby. She said that not only was the baby asleep, he would not understand music because he was still so young. We did not insist.

As I was coming out from a room today, my guide told me that Mrs. Li and her baby were still here at the PICU, and she has agreed for me to play. "I couldn't communicate with her at first, but then I did this..." My guide raised her left arm slightly and bent her right arm at an angle, moving right and left, "and she said yes."

I went into the dimly lit room, and found Mrs. Li there, rocking the baby in her arms. Mrs. Li is a young mother in her twenties, a small woman with long, black hair. Her little baby was wrapped in a hospital blanket--his face could barely be seen, but the wheezing whine that came from the tiny body was hard to miss.

As soon as she saw me, words started spilling out as if they finally found a place to go. She told me that there was no one in the hospital who could translate for her and let her know everything that was going on. The only time an interpreting service was available was when something "really serious" happened to the baby, and even then, the communication happened over the phone. Before I could respond, she took a step closer and asked in a softer voice, "Is it true that this hospital is the best in the city? Is it really true?"

I looked at her and I saw an anxious young mother, holding the most important treasure of her life in her arms. She needed reassurance. More importantly, she needed reassurance in her native tongue, coming from someone who shares the same color of skin. I struggled for a split second in my mind. There are too many things I do not know: I don't know the ranking of the hospital, I don't know the diagnosis or the prognosis of her baby, and I don't know what the doctors have been communicating (or trying to communicate) with her. Time's up, she needs an answer--not the answer (she knows that), but an answer...from me.

"There are many great hospitals in the city. And this is one of them," I said.

A smile of relief appeared on her face. She began to rock her baby again, gently. I picked up my violin and played for them a Chinese hymn.

The egrets in the rice patties,

They do not lack anything;

The lilies in the valley

Give out sweet aroma in the spring.

Our Heavenly Father provides

New blessings each day;

The seeds sprout, the fruits grow,

Many are the evidences of His love.

Jehovah blesses abundantly

Like sand grains on the beach,

His Love endures forevermore;

I will raise my hands and thank Him,

Make sweet music in song,

Praise His Name forevermore.