Kendall the Fire

Author Robert Colman related a true story told him by Dr. Myron Morris. It seems that a little boy was told by his doctor that he could save his sister’s life by giving her some blood. The six-year-old girl was near death, a victim of a disease from which the boy had made a marvelous recovery two years earlier.  Her only chance for restoration was a blood transfusion from someone who had previously conquered the illness. Since the two children had the same rare blood type, the boy was the ideal donor.

“Johnny, would you give blood for your sister Mary?” the doctor asked.

The boy hesitated. His lower lip started to tremble. Then he smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll give blood for my sister.”

Soon the two children were wheeled into the procedure room—Mary, pale and thin; Johnny, he was robust and the picture of health. Neither one spoke, but when their eyes met, Johnny smiled.

As his blood flowed into Mary’s veins, one could almost see new life come into her tired body. The ordeal was almost over when Johnny’s brave little voice broke the silence.  “Hey Doc… when do I die?”

It was only then that the doctor realized what the moment of hesitation, and that trembling of the lip, had meant. Little Johnny actually thought that in giving his blood for his sister he was giving up his life! “In that brief moment,” Dr. Morris said, “he made his great, unselfish decision.”

Johnny was naïve about the price he would have to pay for his shared blood… but he was willing to share it anyway. I have been guilty of failing to acknowledge how great a sacrifice it was for Jesus to “follow through” with the shedding of his blood and his sacrificial death for me. Sure, he was all-knowing and comprehended that he would rise again. However, I don’t believe that anyone before (or since) has understood the depth of the suffering that Calvary entailed and voluntarily agreed to endure something like it on behalf of others. 

Only Jesus… only he endured the mockery, the scourging, the nakedness and scorn, the crown of thorns, the agony of dragging the cross, the act of being nailed to the cross, the pain of the cross being dropped into the ground causing his shoulders to be dislocated, the difficulty of pushing himself up on on nail-pierced feet to breath, and the spear being thrust into his side. None of it for the things he did, but for the things that I have done (and you have done). It was an unselfish act, an excruciatingly difficult death, and an amazingly compassionate Savior… “who saved a wretch like me.” Unlike little Johnny, he knew what he was about go through—he did it anyway. Thank you, Jesus.