Dad
and I drove to town for our 4:20pm appointment to find a relatively quiet
parking lot, a quick registration and lots of cookies awaiting our successful
donation. For those of you curious about the process, here's a brief summary:
you sign in, grab your number, pick up an informational booklet that you are
supposed to read every visit, and grab a seat atwaiting space number one. If
there's a line, actually read the book... if it's relatively quiet, just grab a
seat with one of the pretty blood-specialist and hand over the requested
appendage. One quick prick and an iron test later, you are sent to a table with
voting-style booths set up to answer a series of health questions. If you pass
this first test, you are sent to a second bank of waiting seating, and are
interviewed briefly. Most of the questions posed are about where you have been
and if you have recently had sex with someone in jail / in another country /
that handles monkeys / might have HIV / etc. If you say your "yeses"
and "nos" appropriately, then it's off to waiting bank three,
and then, the chair.
I
was greeted by Pina, a lovely woman from Honduras who told me all about her
daughter's too-short visit home, the insanity of finding and/or keeping a job
in Ontario, and how I wasnot a good bleeder. Later that evening I would
have more than enough crimson-coloured bandages to prove her wrong, but at the
time I listened patiently and did what I could to keep opening and clenching my
fist. Fifteen minutes after we began it was all over, and I was given a (rather
painfully applied) patch, wrap and usher over to the goodies. Happily I didn't
pass out or cry, and I am on the schedule for a repeat visit come February's
end.
I
saved a potential three lives with my one pint of blood, you know. They can do
this spinning thing (I've seen it on CSI or House or something) and separate
the blood into its essential parts, and can deal each element out as needed.
It's a pretty cool, and relatively painless process that I highly suggest you
think about, and then act upon. After all, "It's in you to give."
...and
if I was writing this at any other time of year, I might have left this piece
here... but the thing is, I've been wrapped up in Leviticus and learning about
sacrificial law, and with Christmas and New Years propaganda floating around, I
feel compelled to think out loud a little longer.
I'll
try to connect the dots and cut to the quick, without the lace of language I'm
used to: when God wrapped himself in flesh and filled his body with human
blood, He did so for a profound, humbling reason. His blood was in
Him to give - but not to give pint by pint every few months - to give in its
entirety, sacrificially, without reserve.
And
the beauty of His blood is that it has the ability to save more than three
lives... and more than burn victims and people with severe cuts can benefit
from his donation. His blood rescues from heart attack, cancer and murder, and
He, too, gave freely.
Honestly,
the inside of my arm still hurts a bit around the now-scarring needle mark, but
I will return in February for another round of bruised muscles and bandaged
joints if only to be reminded of the debt to death I will not pay because of
Christ who, quite literally, gave his blood for me.
And
for you.
Look
at your life. If you feel yourself bleeding out and need to talk, or want to
know a little more about this offer and the post-resuscitation commitment in
the fine print of Jesus, write me. I will write back.
It's
a New Year: the hope of another 365 days on this planet, but not the promise of
them.
Just
give it some thought.
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