Throwback: "Death Grip"

The past two Sundays at church have reminded me about a little anecdote I wrote a couple summers ago.  So, this isn't really a "new" post, I guess, but I thought it was ok to share.  Again.  :)

"...but to those who are being saved, it is the very power of God."

His beautiful dark curls were plastered to his little forehead with sweat, as crocodile tears of epic proportions trickled down his sweet pink face.  He looked up at me with his shimmery blue eyes and emitted a heartbreaking sob from his little vocal chords.  Such a big sound for someone so small.  I held him closer to my chest as I paced back and forth across the dimly lit room, willing him to fall asleep with every fiber of my being.  He was so tired.  So worn out.  So helpless.  Maybe even a little bit frightened.  But as much as he needed rest, he didn't want it.  He only wanted the solace of his mother.  I couldn't be that, but I was trying my hardest to come as close as possible.  

"It's ok, buddy.  Shhh, it's ok.  Everything's gonna be alright.  Go to sleep, sweet boy, " I whispered softly in his ear.  Humming a made-up tune, I paced...I bounced...I rocked...all to no avail.  He stiffened his little body, emanating another shrill cry from his tiny lungs.  His salty tears soaked my shirt, and it was all I could do to not let my own tears spill out the corners of my eyes.  I wanted so badly to console him, but I felt as helpless as he did.  As I whispered an almost silent prayer, his tiny flailing hand made contact with my shiny silver necklace, and his chubby baby fingers tightened around the petite cross dangling from the chain.  And he didn't let go...

I could feel the clasp digging into the back of my neck and thought for sure he would rip the charm right off.  He writhed and screamed and cried, but he never let go of that little cross.  It was as if his very life depended on it.  A serious death grip.  And suddenly, like a freight train barreling at my heart, a thought struck me...

"Shouldn't we all have a death grip on the Cross?"

When we become followers of Christ, realizing what our Savior has done for us, we embrace the Cross that dripped with blood for the ransom of our very souls.  The love that is etched into every inch of the Cross stops us dead in our tracks, and we cling to it as if our life depended on it.  Because...it does...

But somewhere along the way, we let go.  We get sidetracked.  We get caught up in our own wants and desires and selfish pride.  Sure, we know the importance of the Cross, but we don't keep it at the forefront of our minds.  We don't forget the story of what Christ did on that Cross...but we forget the reality of what He did on that Cross.  We lose sight of the fact that without the Cross, we would 100% be condemned to an eternity of horrible, never-ending punishment.  We place second to other things that with the Cross, we are given a second chance; we are given something that we do not deserve.  Mercy and grace.  Without the Cross, we have neither.  It is the reason we exist.  The reason we can press on and do what we do.  Without it, we have nothing.  Therefore, when we are tired, worn out, helpless, frightened, frustrated, confused, hurting, desperate...or even when we're not...we have no reason to not have a death grip on that Cross...'cause after all, it's message "is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the VERY...POWER...OF GOD."**

I looked down at the sleeping baby in my arms.  His cheeks were still tear-stained, his body sweaty, and his face red...but he let out a peaceful little sigh...and his tiny fingers still had a death grip on the cross.

**emphasis added by author

[scripture taken from I Corinthians 1:18]

Dr. Valentine's Day

Nobody should have to get up at 5 o'clock in the morning for surgery.  It should not still be dark on your way to the hospital.  Hospital gowns should not gape open in the back.  Ok, that last one has nothing to do with early surgery times, but it's still a fact...

Hubs and I rolled up to the hospital a little before 6 AM for his shoulder surgery today.  He had a Valentine date with a surgeon.  Actually, he's back in an operating room with him as I type.  Scopes and utensils and grinder thingies and who-knows-what-else are digging around inside Hubs' shoulder.  SLAP tear (Superior Labrum Anterior and Posterior) repair is going down at this very moment.  He'll emerge from surgery with his arm in a sling and a pain-numbing block in his shoulder.  And an IV full of some form of painkiller no doubt.  Today should be interesting, huh?

At one point before they wheeled him back, the room was full of dry-humored nurses and MDs.  I'm really not sure exactly how many of them were going to be in the operating room...I feel like all of them were by the way they talked.  I envisioned 18 white-coated and green-scrubbed men and women crowded around the little tv that has Hubs' muscles and tendons and ligaments emblazoned across its screen.  Maybe they're all in there right now, shooting the breeze over his bum shoulder.  I'm guessing the tall, lanky anethesia nurse named Dan just made a goofy joke which he followed up with "Psyche!" like he did in the pre-op room this morning.  Yes, that happened.  The 90's called while we were in there and asked for their catchphrase back.  

Oh, if they were all in the operating room chatting it up, they aren't now.  Hubs' surgeon is walking toward me...

******

Surgery=success!  The surgeon just informed me that the tear was indeed just as bad as he thought, but that it has been safely repaired!  The marvels of modern medicine never cease to amaze me.  A doctor just made some incisions in my husband's shoulder, stuck a camera of all things inside there, took a look around, ground down some bone, and stitched up a torn piece of cartilage.  Crazy.  God's so cool to gift people with such talent.  Now I just have to wait another couple of hours before I can drag my groggy, slinged-up Valentine back to the comforts of our own home.  Oh goodness, I hope they call me back to the recovery room soon...a man wearing an over-bearing dose of cheap cologne just walked in the waiting room and now my nose hairs are burning up as we speak...

Maybe I should take a trip back to the ghost-town of a cafeteria in the basement.  Even the eerie glow of the juice cooler and the steamy tray of faux eggs has got to be better than the potential migraine Mr. You-Can-Smell-Me-Coming-A-Mile-Away is gonna give me.  Although, these nice waiting room chairs do recline.  And 5 o'clock did come pretty early this morning...