It’s 5:45am and I’ve been up about 45 minutes. I was awakened by Zoe’s tearful ‘Daddy….I’m siiiiiiick.’. My eyes rolled in their sockets as I rolled my frame out of bed. Zoe can be….how shall we put this…dRamaTiC!!!! at times.
This time, it’s not drama. Poor girl really is sick. She’s got a wicked cough that started yesterday, a puny look, and the slight shudder that a parent recognizes when a fever is coming on. I carried her princess-pajama wearing little tan self and her favorite blanket down to the Big Chair in the living room, where I laid her on a pillow, running back upstairs for my computer.
By the time I returned, she was sleeping. Sitting here in the dark, tapping at the keyboard, I hear her labored breathing and periodic groan. I know she’s sick. She’s hurting – surely not as much as the children at Children’s Mercy Hospital this morning, but more than I wish she were. This wasn’t how I expected to start my day, but everything went on hold when this little one got sick.
The thought comes to me like it always does in these times.
“I wish it were me. I’d rather be sick than have her sick. I’d take her pain in a moment.” I’m not being trite or emotional. I would do it. I’d take her fever. I’d take her aches. If it were her or me, I’d die for her, no questions asked, so second guesses. Cue Mat Kearney, because I’d take a bullet for her.
It’s moments like this that the love of God makes just a bit of sense to me…how a man – yes, fully God, but yet fully man – could lay down his life for another. I wouldn’t hesitate. There would be no long, thoughtful process. Love would become action in a millisecond and no regret would follow.
It’s moments like these that I began to get it.
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