Sara had to have a mole removed from her cheek on Friday. It was a very routine procedure. The nurse told the bride and me that there was plenty of room for us in the room where the procedure was to take place. I figured we'd go back, let her get settled, then go back out to the waiting room. Nosireebob. We were there for the whole thing.
Don't misunderstand me, I was glad to be there for Sara. I just didn't plan on watching it happen. But I reasoned that since I was in the room when she was born, I could be in the room for a simple mole removal.
I watched the doctor as she drew around the area with some type of felt marker. I saw her "paint it brown" with some sort of antiseptic solution. I even watched as she numbed it with a needle. There was a point, however that I had to turn away. It was when I saw blood. I wasn't faint or sick at my stomach, I just couldn't bear the sight of my child bleeding.
On the outside, I've always said that it's good for kids to have the occasional bumps and bruises because it makes them tough. No, I don't want my girls to be rough and tumble girls, but I want them to be able to handle the everyday things in life without panicking. However, whenever either of my girls hurt, whether it's emotional or physical, I hurt. I may not show it, but inside it's killing me to see them in pain of any kind.
I came back to the office and ate at my desk. As I finished up my salad, I had an epiphany: How hard was it for God the Father to watch His Son bleed and die an unbelievably cruel death? Toward the end of Matthew 27, Jesus asks His Father why He has forsaken Him. I've heard pastors and people much smarter than me say it was because at that moment Christ took on the sins of the whole world, and God can't be in the presence of sin. He had to momentarily look way. Part of me believes that it hurt God so much to see His Son in pain that he had to look the other way.
Times like that make me appreciate God's love even more.....
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