Death brings new life, continued

In Gods Hands


What are all these bruises?

At last it was time to kick me out of the ICU. Usually patients go from the ICU to other rooms in the hospital before being released, so it was unusual for me to be released directly from the ICU. My wife went to get the car and I started to get dressed to go home. When I took the hospital gown off I looked down at my body and was shocked. It didn't look like my body. I had lost 10 lbs. or more. Not only was there a big burn mark from the defibrillator on my chest, but there were bruises all over my arms and legs and sides and chest. I had patched holes up and down my arms from all the IVs, and larger holes on my inner thigh from where the doctors went in to place the stent in my heart, and where they put in a pump to help my heart to keep going. But with all these bruises and holes, I felt so good. I couldn't figure it out. The hospital had stopped giving me drugs after my first three days in the hospital, so I knew I wasn't high. But I felt no pain. I felt strong. I even felt powerful. But my body didn't look that way at all. In that moment, I felt a profound gratitude, and knelt down and thanked God for my life.

The Touch of The Master's Hand

I love art and art history. I have studied it since high school and love the great painters and sculptors of the Renaissance. Especially Michelangelo. After my senior year of high school I went on a tour of Europe. There I saw and studied the true genius of Michelangelo's sculpture. He is a master at creating emotions and passion with his use of exaggerated features and scale of proportion. I was especially impressed by his Pieta. The figure of Jesus Christ after the crucifixion, gently held by a loving mother. On Mary's face is a look not of grief, but of resignation--a patient, understanding endurance. For, for this was He born, and she knew it. Michelangelo's figure of Christ is in every way a sculpture of a perfect young man, teenage boy almost. Perfect skin, perfect hair. Content, without any flaw, except the wound that pierced his side and the prints of the nails in his hands and feet. I have thought about that sculpture and talked about it often throughout my life. My family didn't tell me that St. Marks hospital had a replica of the Pieta in the lobby. They wanted it to be a surprise. They could never have known the impact it would have. 

My Lord, My God

The hospital wouldn't let me walk out on my own power. "Policy." They put me in a wheel chair to take me through the lobby to where Tresa was waiting in the car. It was a week before Christmas and the lobby was full of families with kids waiting to sit on Santa's knee. As the nurse was weaving me through the crowd I was pondering about my bruised body and how grateful I was to be here and how the Lord had carried us through this whole ordeal. As I was wondering how it was possible that I could feel so good and yet be so bruised, I looked up and the crowd of people began to part. Right in front of me was Michelangelo's Pieta. I asked the nurse to stop. I stood up and walked over to the sculpture. Here was that perfect body. Not the bruised and scarred body of a man who had just been put through the physical hell of crucifixion. As I looked at the replica of this masterpiece made centuries before, I felt as though Michelangelo had sculpted this just for me. For this moment. I realized that the way I felt was the way the artist depicted Jesus. I realized that it was because of what Jesus went through that I was able to experience the feeling I had right then. My body was bruised and had holes in it yet it felt as though it was perfect and ready for my new life. It was all I could do to keep myself from falling to the floor and weeping right there in front of all those children and families. As I looked at Mary holding her son I could sense my Heavenly Parents holding me. I was overwhelmed. When I got into the car Tresa knew because she had seen me get up from the wheelchair. She said, "Did you see it?" I just leaned into her arms and wept. I didn't stop weeping until I got home and was able to spend time in our room in prayerful gratitude. My family who were waiting at home to see me had to wait a little longer until I had gained my composure. 

God lives. He is our Father. Jesus Christ lives. He is our Lord and Savior. They are mindful of every one of us. They know our pain and can give us strength. We need their strength to accomplish what we are here for. The trials we experience here are just that. I consider them as tests or opportunities to step higher. Jesus is our advocate, our mentor, our tutor. We are not just physical, earthly beings. This isn't all there is. This life is very temporary, very wonderful, very hard and very worth it.

Now comes the hard part

It's our life. They have to let us down to live it.

Next.