The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 17)

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God in the Fire

Jonathan's illness had come to dominate our lives, and even though hundreds of people were praying, there seemed to be no intervention from God. Three years after Jonathan's operation, I decided to give Jonathan one of my kidneys. I felt it was the most natural thing in the world for any father to do for his son.

No, I didn't know what I was talking about. I didn't understand what such an operation really involved. The doctor was most hesitant. He looked at me and saw age: grey hair and wrinkled brows. However, though he knew about my faith, he didn't know my God. Sometimes God invites us to meet Him in fire, as He met Meshach, Shadrach and Abednego in the time of Daniel.

So God overruled human decisions and the initial tests began.

How dehumanizing: getting undressed, needles, samples. But I soon adapted to the system. I got over the embarrassment of carrying my sample from one department to another; even needles came to mean nothing to me, though the first time a nurse took a drop of blood from me I just about fainted.

There was one obstacle in the way of the transplant, and that was the insistence of the transplant team that I see a psychiatrist. This is the normal procedure for all potential donors. Now I had very strong views about this profession, none of them complimentary, and so I refused to go along with the system. An appointment was made which I never kept and, hearing nothing, I thought I had got away with it. But I seemed to be waiting a long time to get the date for the transplant, so I made enquiries and was told in no uncertain terms that unless I saw the psychiatrist there would be no transplant.

So I made the appointment. Of all the tests I had prior to the transplant this was one that I approached with the most apprehension and suspicion. "Watch it, guard your tongue," I thought. "Perhaps he'll think you're a religious nut." "Just answer yes and no," was my last piece of advice to myself, as I entered Dr Enoch's office and sat down on a chair.

"What, no couch?" I thought. But after Dr Enoch had introduced himself I felt we were old friends and there was the presence of Jesus, known only to those who have been born again. The psychiatrist turned out to be my brother in Jesus!

As he began to tell me of his faith and how he believed that God had placed him in his profession, I thought, "Peter you've blown it again and limited God to your own understanding."

The day came when they gave us the date of the transplant. Jonathan and I got really excited. All results were positive. Nothing would be sure until the last day, but boy, we were pleased. I saw worried looks on people's faces when I told them the good news, but I couldn't wait. I had found God in this fire, so fear and worry had no hold on me.
Before the transplant I had to enter the hospital for a minor operation. Nothing to it, I discovered; they gave me an injection to calm me down, a "pre-med", and I felt as high as a kite!

"Dad," said Jonathan one day while we were impatiently waiting and he lay in bed having one of his bad days.
"Yes, son?" I replied.
"Dad, when the surgeon takes your kidney and puts it into me, it will give me a new life."
"Yes, son, it will give you a new life because it will purify your blood."
"Dad, that's what happens when Jesus comes into our lives. He gives us a new spirit and makes us clean"
"That's right, son."
"Praise God," I thought, "what a sermon!"
"Dad, now I know what it really means to be saved."

At last the day arrived. Transplant: eight o'clock in the morning; we were to be the first in the operating theatre. Six o'clock: bath, painted nearly all over with iodine.

Soon, I thought, they will give me that pre-med shot and I will get high and go down to the theatre singing.

The porters came to wheel me down. "What about the pre-med, nurse?" I asked. "Have you forgotten?"