We drew bloodwork today in preparation for Mayo next week.  It was awful.  Cee’s anxiety level was through the roof, and she screamed through the whole procedure.

The nurse called me with a few of the results.  Today Cee’s  inflammation level is 4x higher than the last
levels that David and I remember.   The nurse was sympathetic and mentioned that that was why Cee doesn’t even want us to touch her.

Today at home, Cee cried out as she was laying on the couch.  I didn’t think too much of it, because that happens all the time.  I asked what she needed.  “When my clothes are touching me, it’s like Jesus on the cross.”

Like Jesus on the cross.  My little girl feels like Jesus on the cross.

And I realize that in this moment of my life, I have a giant opportunity.   I have an opportunity to wipe the face of Jesus.  To see His pain and know that that there’s nothing I can do. To know how helpless the apostles felt, how defeated they
felt on the road to Calvary.  When my patience gets thin, that’s what I need to remember.

I’ve wondered before where I would have fit in if I lived back then.  Would I have seen Jesus’ pain and turned away?   Or
would I have had the courage to face it.  To do what little I could to wipe His face, knowing it would be covered
in blood and sweat again in a matter of minutes.   I can’t be sure.  It’s so much easier to run.

At this moment of my life, I need to choose to be Veronica, no matter how hard it is.

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