THE TETHERING PLACE

While I remember so many things from my friend’s journey, one think I cannot get out of my head is all the blood. Blood counts, blood tests, blood draws, blood transfusions, good blood, bad blood…

Frankly, I have always thought it a bit odd when we sing so joyfully of the blood of Jesus and being washed by blood and all that in church. I mean, I understand that Jesus died for me, and as much as I can fathom loving someone and owing them everything if they literally took a bus for me so that I could live, I still didn’t get why we would have to sing about blood all the time.

And then it clicked.

This one day, Cristina and I were talking about an experience she had at the hospital. She had a port in in her chest, essentially an open hole with access directly to her blood flow that has a little valve coming out. About once a week, she would show up at the hospital for a transfusion, to “clean” her blood. {She and the other patients jokingly referred to it as the “gas station”.} She talked of how she would be exhausted, literally no strength in her body, with little ability to focus or exert energy in any way, and then would show up, plug into the port, and within moments have new blood, blood filled with oxygen and nutrients and wonderful stuff, coursing through her veins.

She said it was amazing, like drinking the most potent of energy drinks, and she would bounce away with new life in her.

Well, this one particular day, she got bad blood. I don’t know if that is the technical term, but she called it bad blood. Her body reacted. She immediately began to get sores and spike a fever and they had to move quickly and get her care and a new source.  It was scary. It not only didn’t give her the energy she desperately needed but threatened her already taxed system.

She relayed this to me, and started talking about how it is like life… that we can plug into the source that gives us life and energy and clean blood, or we can plug into things that actually will kill us. She was so determined to “unplug” from the stuff that had previously denied her of the energy of life that she knew God, and those things he desired for her life, gave.  {I know, brilliant, right?}

And so ever since, whenever there is scripture or music about the blood of Jesus, about how He is the blood of life… I think back to my friend. About how abiding, remaining, plugging into the Jesus of scripture, the One who is alive and well and loves me and speaks to me, the One who calls himself my counselor and rescuer and friend and healer, will revive me. Will give me life and energy that I am lacking. And how I can’t go even days between being near to him, talking to him, opening the port of my heart to him, or I fade.  And I get it.

There is life in the blood.