Precious eyes. Tiny veins. Big crocodile tears.
Oh what I would have given to trade places with my daughter that day at Shriner’s Hospital.
But all I could do is sit and watch the needles going in and out. And cry, desperately cry as my child struggled to be brave.
Why her? Why? Why not me?
She didn’t do anything to deserve a defective gene. I gave it to her. Why couldn’t the suffering be mine?
A hill. A thorny crown. A cross.
Oh what the father undoubtedly would have given to take away the pain from his son.
But all he could do was watch. As the nails were driven in and the tree raised. And as his son cried, desperately cried, “Dad, why have you forsaken me?”
Why him? Why? Why not those who stood and watched?
He didn’t do anything to deserve this suffering and death. They did. We did.
Yet the dad watched as his son died. Because he so loved a little girl in a hospital room who deserves a body made new.
Oh what love the Father has given unto us.