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"Your daughter has a mass on her lung the size of a grapefruit,” the doctor announced emotionless.
My mind failed to compute his words. The day had been a whirlwind; one minute we were at the pediatrician’s office, the next we were escorted to the ER, and suddenly we found ourselves whisked away on a MedFlight to Boston Children’s Hospital.
The following morning, a team of doctors paraded into our room dressed in hazmat suits to report their latest findings. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language and I was only able to catch the scary words: oncology, mass, cancer, infectious disease.
Later that night, I climbed over the side rails of the hospital bed and curled up to my baby girl, maneuvering my way around the tubes and wires. My arm rose and fell in sync with her labored breathing. Just when I thought she was fast asleep, she rolled over—her eyes welling with emotion.
“I want to go home, Mommy. Please let me go home,” she begged while squeezing my fingers as hard as she could.
“Not yet, Honey. The doctors have to figure out what’s wrong,” I reminded her as I tried to choke back the tears.
While she slept, I refused to let her go. I feared she wouldn’t make it through the night. As I laid in bed, a million worst-case scenarios ran through my head—envisioning myself banging on a locked door in heaven plastered with deadbolts.
In my darkest hour, I pleaded with God:
Father, please take this away. I will do anything—anything for my girl. Let me switch places with her. Why her? Why not me?
I repeated this prayer for hours until I drifted off to sleep.
Yet my prayer was nothing new to God. He had heard it once before, 2,000 years ago.
Jesus was betrayed by the very people he was sent to love. His best friends had deserted him. His execution was imminent. In his darkest hour, he pleaded with God:
Father, please take this away. Yet your will not mine. I will do anything—anything for my kids. Let me switch places with them. Why them? Why not me?
And God granted his request. The Father did the one thing no parent should ever have to do—turn his back on his own son. While on the cross, Jesus felt his Dad’s cold shoulder as he wailed in agony, “Father, why have you abandoned me?”
Jesus’ love compelled him to switch places with us. He lived a perfect life and then chose to carry the weight of our punishment so we could have a relationship with our heavenly Father. The day Jesus was buried, all of hell threw a victory party. Little did they know, three days later Jesus would rise and put death to death once and for all.
What does that mean for us today? EVERYTHING.
Jesus’ resurrection unlocked the revolving door in heaven; the same one I was pounding on. Every deadbolt was broken, not just to bring us to heaven—but to bring heaven to earth.
After a month-long hospital stay—two days before Easter—my daughter was discharged. Miraculously, the mass had shrunk to the size of a grape with no treatment!
To this day, my daughter is a medical anomaly.
And to this day, death has no hold on me.