Once again, we are finding ourselves in the midst of a situation where the hand of God could not be more obvious. Because this is His work, Satan constructed an obstacle course to end them all, the details of which are described in the following report. Let me just say that "The last time I saw Paris" will, hopefully, be the last time I see Paris.

The trip from Bosnia to Florida was horrendous, as you will read further. It was particularly difficult for Fika, the 28-year-old Bosnian mother we brought here, along with her ten-month-old baby girl, Fadila. Fika is homeless and lives with her four children in a shack in the city dump in Mostar. Other extended members of her late husband's family have also taken refuge there in the dump. Fika has had no education and neither reads nor writes. The largest city she ever saw was Sarajevo, and that was just recently when she went to get her passport. She had never seen an elevator, escalator or numerous other "modern conveniences", not to mention an airplane!

The first flight was so frightening for her that she begged to take a bus to Florida. She wasn't joking!

We were, to put it mildly, "delayed" in Paris and did not arrive in Jacksonville until a day later than scheduled. The cardiologist saw Fadila for the first time the following afternoon, Wednesday. A number of tests were performed including an EKG, an Echo Cardiogram and a Cardian Catheterization. The results showed that the baby's condition is far worse than was indicated by the Bosnian doctors. In fact, she is in Congestive Heart Failure, has fluid in her lungs and very poor circulation. The doctor said we got her here in the "nick of time" - she would not have lived for even another month - maybe even less.

In late January, I flew to Medjugorje for the purpose of bringing back a precious baby girl for open heart surgery. Ten-month-old Fadila lives in a shack in the city dump in Mostar, with her mother and three older siblings. While the baby was inutero, this homeless family was in a fatal automobile accident that claimed the life of the child’s father. Her mother sustained back and neck injuries, both of her sisters had their legs broken and her brother had two broken legs. The entire family was devastated and traumatized by the accident which only made their already difficult lives seem impossible.

Shortly after Fadila’s birth last April, it was discovered that she had a large hole in her heart. Surgery was not an option for her in her own country and, with no money or other resources, there was little her shattered mother could do but love her, care for her and wait for her to die.

In October, we were introduced to the child by Janet Leff, a retired American Social Worker who lives in Medjugorje and has been working with us for some time. I spoke about Fadila at our conference in November and made a second appeal for help for this child via our newsletter. Dr. Danielle Walsh, a former high school classmate of my own children, read the newsletter and put the wheels in motion. A miracle was beginning to take place.

Flying with me to Medjugorje was Ulfeta Childress, a Bosnian woman whose own daughter was one of the first children we brought to the United States for life-saving surgery. Nermina, age two at the time of her heart surgery, is now 14 years old and they live here in Florida. Ulfeta was only too happy to accompany me on this journey. Not only could she serve as our translator but she knew, first hand, how frightening this entire experience would be for Fika, the infant’s mother. Ulfeta was in a unique position to be of support to Fika and I was delighted to have her with me.

On February 2nd, we left Medjugorje at 2:00 a.m.—the beginning of our long journey to health and wholeness for baby Fadila. The travel could hardly have been more difficult.

A friend, Zvonko Ferenc, had rented a van to accommodate all of us, our luggage, the car seat and the stroller for the trip to the airport. I road in front with Zvonko. Fika, Fadila and Ulfeta were in the back.

There was no moon that night and no oncoming traffic along the desolate roads we were taking so it was easy to doze off. I awoke when we got to the Croatian border only to discover that we were at the wrong border! We had arrived from America in Dubrovnik and Zvonko assumed we were leaving from the same city. I had failed to correct that assumption and, with my eyes closed, hadn’t noticed that we were going the wrong way.

We crossed the border, turned North and headed for Split. We’d lost about an hour, a foreshadowing, perhaps, of things to come.

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