He turned purple in an instant.
A confused whimper roared into a full on scream.
He shook and tried to curl up into a ball.
I held his little arms and told him it would be okay, as tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked my mask.
I knew I couldn’t take away his pain.
Even worse, I let it happen to him.
Finally, I could pick him up as they disposed of their needles.
I scooped him in my arms and held him close.
I whispered my apologies and reassurances as his sobs slowly subsided.
I asked how many parents cried as hard as the child and the nurse nodded,
“I cried with my babies.”
I didn’t expect such a visceral reaction.
Just a few days before, my aunt asked me if I felt distressed when my baby cried.
“No, not really, because I know I can usually comfort him and meet his needs.”
Well, now I knew distress.
I could comfort him afterwards, but that didn’t take away the pain he felt.
I would’ve taken the shots for him, but it doesn’t work that way.
And it wasn’t that way at Calvary.
The pain and sorrow of the world was on His shoulders.
He bore in His body the weight of sin.
Now I understand, just a little bit more, of the Father’s heart.
He watched as His Beloved Son suffered.
But He could not comfort Him.
While I could hold my son close and soothe him,
God the Father had to turn away from His Son’s distress.
The ground trembled and shook and tore apart.
I think that was a reflection of His heart.
This agony was endured by the Son and the Father,
And it was done for me.
Such love and sacrifice humbles and rejoices my heart.
Christ’s death on the cross means life for me.
Because of His distress, I will be comforted forever.
Hallelujah, what a Savior.