Emmanuel’s Story
God’s Providences in Preserving the Life of Patrick Emmanuel—God is truly with him.
Our part of Patrick Emmanuel’s story starts months before he was born. In mid-February, God brought a young lady across our path. Her story was compelling and devasting. However, we were not equipped to help with her particular needs. We wanted to do what we could, however, so a staff member graciously took her in, while we looked for an organization to help. During our search, we discovered that her story was false. She had come to us on false pretense and was known in her village as a chronic thief. We took this lady back to her village and met with the local chief, as we wanted to make sure that our organization was represented correctly in this affair.
While there, we met a man whose wife had suffered a stroke during her third pregnancy. Since then she had been mostly paralyzed and blind. The family had spent a year in Bangui waiting for the baby to be born and then going through therapy for the mother. As a result, they had lost everything but their house and land. We visited with her and the family, and from that moment, a long-term relationship developed. We began seeking ways to help this man better care for his wife and children.
One Sunday afternoon months later, two of our employees went out to check on the progress of a little shop we were building for this family. While they were there, a young father came to them begging for help. His wife was very ill, and there was a baby involved. Our employees went to his house and took pictures of the baby and mother.
When they returned to Jonathan’s House, they said, “Maman Donna, we have some concerns.” I assumed the concerns were about our building project, as we had already experienced problems with the builder, so I was surprised when they pulled out a phone and showed me pictures of a baby.
I sat on my swing and listened as they told me about a three-week-old baby boy, whose mother’s milk had dried up ten days previously, due to her health. Since then, he had only been given contaminated water to drink. The baby cried non-stop. The mom didn’t look good.
It was 5:30 PM and already getting dark. Travel here is hazardous at any time of the day, but especially so at night, and I don’t do it—unless I have to! So, I looked these two men in the eye and said, “Will this baby die if I don’t go get him tonight?” They bowed their heads just briefly and then looked up at me, and both said, “Yes. I think he will.” That was all I had to hear.
I gave instructions to our older girls, and we got in the car and headed out. As we drove down our hill, storm clouds were gathering. We prayed together that God would be gracious and merciful, that He would go before us, hold off the storm, protect us from bad pot holes, and help us achieve our mission without incident. By the time we got out of town, I was a little concerned as the clouds were very menacing and the wind was rising. I even said to Guy, “Are you sure this is wise?” He said, “Maman Donna, you prayed. We’re going to be okay!” I personally had some reservations about that, as I wasn’t so sure of the effectiveness of my prayers!
As we traveled, the winds increased and the clouds were dark and heavy behind us. We pulled into the village in the dark, just as large, but scarce, raindrops were starting to fall. Guy went to the family’s hut, and Brice stayed with me in the car. When Guy came back with the small family, I jumped out to help the mother into the car, as I could tell they were basically carrying her. I reached out and took her forearm to help pull her in, and my hand closed around it. My heart sunk. I whispered quietly in English, “Oh, Lord, is she going to make it? Please be with us and help us.”
I asked for a cup (I had forgotten to bring one) and made some formula. I took the baby into my hands and smiled down at the tiniest and sickliest baby I had ever seen. It was then that I finally asked his name. They said, “His name is Patrick Emmanuel, but we call him Emmanuel.” How appropriate! I had no bottles at that point, so I spooned formula into his frail body. His crying immediately ceased.
We prayed together with the gathering crowd and headed back. As we started driving in the pitch black, we were shocked at how wet the roads were. The storm had been intense. The pot holes were full of red, muddy water. The tall grasses were hammered down by the intense rain. We marveled that we hadn’t seen any rain. The further we went, the more stunned we were. Torrents had pelted the entire area, yet we had never once turned on the wipers! God’s hand of protection was so evident that the three of us from JH were nearly speechless.
During the drive home, we stopped every 30 minutes or so to feed the baby. During the whole ride, his sweet mother alternated between heavy coughing, quiet moaning, and a rattling breath. I have always heard about the death rattle, and I believe I may have witnessed it that night.
When we arrived at our local hospital, it was evident to them that she was very ill. We knew she had already been diagnosed with TB, and they immediately prepared for blood transfusions. After she was somewhat settled in the triage room, I asked about the baby.
The doctor said, “Is the baby sick?”
The grandmother replied, “No.”
I said, “Well, the baby is not sick, but the baby is dying.”
He looked at me and said, “What do you want me to do? We don’t have any formula, and we don’t have any bottles. Can you not take responsibility for the baby?”
I honestly wanted to remind him that he was the doctor and head of a hospital, and I was just a little nobody at a tiny NGO on top of a steep hill! However, I bit my tongue, and said, “Yes. I will take responsibility for the baby for now. But, what would you do if I said no?”
They all just stood there silently looking at me. I stared at them.
“You would just let him die?” I whispered.
All I got was silent shrugs.
I turned, feeling almost defeated, and went in to his mother. I knelt down beside her and put my face close to hers. In my broken Sango I said, “I have your baby. I will take care of him until he is healthy enough for you or his grandma to care for him. I will love him. I will tell him that you love him.”
She reached her hand out and took mine, smiled weakly and whispered, “Thank you.”
She died less than 8 hours later.
We left the hospital and headed home. In the car, I said, “Would they really just let the baby die?” Both my employees assured me that there really weren’t any other options. No one would help the baby as the mother had TB. They were too scared. Yes, they would have just let the baby die.
I shook my head to clear the fog. As we drove up the hill, there was more evidence of a very intense squall. When we arrived home, some of the waiting staff said they had been very concerned about our safety because the storm had been so bad. They were so glad to see us. We looked at each other—stunned and awed. We had not gotten more than a few large rain drops!
We walked in and introduced the appropriately named Patrick Emmanuel to his new large family. As I undressed the baby to bathe him, I gasped. He was in worse condition than I had realized. I whispered down at him and told him that he was loved, and I would fight for him. After receiving news of his mother’s death early the next morning, we chose to assist with the funeral before heading to Bangui.
I transported his mother’s body back down the same road we had come with her just hours before. That’s an emotionally moving, heavy experience. My silent prayers for her small baby, husband, and other three children were mingled with tears. As we drove, evidence of the storm in daylight was shocking. It had been devastating in some areas. Trees were down, some mud huts collapsed, straw roofs destroyed. It was just more evidence of God’s graciousness to us on this rescue mission.
As soon as we had buried his mother, we transferred Emmanuel to the pediatric center in Bangui where he spent the next three weeks. The receiving doctor told us that had we not intervened, Emmanuel would most certainly have died within less than 48 hours. Once again, I was awed at how God was with little Emmanuel and placed us just where we needed to be in time to save his life.
Today Patrick (God is gracious) Emmanuel (God is with us) is healthy, happy, and thriving. Every time I hold him, I marvel at how appropriately, though unknowingly, his parents named him. God has graciously been with that little boy, orchestrating events even before his birth so that we would be available to rescue him, and as a result, God spared him from almost certain death. How grateful I am that God allowed us to be a part of rescuing this baby, and my prayer is that someday God will use Emmanuel to be a spokesperson amongst his own people to share about the One who left Heaven to come to earth to live amongst us so that we can have eternal life.
Donna Bixby was born in Central African Republic in the early 70’s to missionary parents. When she was 10, her family moved their ministry to France. God used both places to mold and prepare her for the future that he had uniquely carved out. She graduated with a BS in Elementary Education in ’96 and a Masters in Education in ’98, both from BJU.
Over the years God directed her to a variety of ministries and opportunities, giving her ample experience in career and ministry. Donna is a member of Cleveland Park Bible Church of Spartanburg, SC, pastored by Dr. Ken Casillas.
In 2019 God began changing Donna’s focus of ministry to a full-time capacity. In late 2019, she began raising funds to serve as a missionary in Central African Republic alongside a pre-existing ministry, Jonathan’s House-CAR. In her role there, she fills many capacities, but her heart’s throb is to guide those around her to knowing Christ, through His Word, in a deeper, more personal and meaningful way.
