14  |  ROBERTA M. DAMON around. She was twelve years old. At this they were complete- ly astonished. He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to give her something to eat. Mark 5:22–24;35–43 Dear Little One, D o you remember anything about dying?Did you see heaven? Were you in God’s presence? One thing I do know: you were always in God’s care. Twelve is an interesting age—not quite a woman, but no longer a child—certainly too young to die. I think of your parents—their desperation—sitting night after night beside your bed, hoping against hope—praying for a miracle and despairing as they saw you slipping away. You were their only child. I’m sure they had great plans for you—dreams of a good marriage, grandchildren, a happy life. And now the unthinkable has happened. I’m sure they tried everything to pull you from death’s grasp— doctors,medicines,everythingtheycouldthinkof.Iwonderwhothought of Jesus from Nazareth, the Holy Man, the Healer. I wonder with what trepidation or with what hope your father set out to fetch Him. And then there was the terrible delay. Did your father tell you later how he had engaged Jesus to come lay hands on you when there was that infernal interruption—some unclean woman Jesus stopped to heal? Don’t you know your father wanted to push her out of the way and shout, “You don’t have time for this! You don’t understand. My child, my only child is dying. Please, please, come now!” And then the