More From Ree Pashley

I always get contemplative this time of year, around my son’s birthday. It is with an odd blend of joy and fear, awe and sadness, that I remember how very very sick he was after birth. What is normally a joyous time after a new baby arrives was one of the most challenging times in my life. Truly, I did not know if my newborn was going to survive.

We were transferred to different hospitals in a frantic race to get answers: Why was he so weak? Why did he sometimes need oxygen to breathe? Was it his heart? Was it his lungs? Test after test came back negative, leaving me with conflicting feelings of both relief and increasing terror. The good news: it’s not a heart defect. The bad news: we still don’t have a diagnosis or treatment. Days, then weeks, went by without answers. And my son grew weaker and weaker.

At last, doctors announced testing would be put on hold: my son needed a blood transfusion. A transfusion meant that results of blood tests for the next few days would be skewed and samples would not provide answers because his blood composition would be dampened by the donor blood. Solemnly, a white-clad doctor told me this wasn’t really a delay. If anything, the blood transfusion was buying us more time. My baby was so sick and had grown so weak that he needed this sacrifice of blood in order to survive until we could get answers.

I recall staring at the ruby-colored bag of a stranger’s blood dripping into my little one and wondering, Did the donor ever imagine their blood would go to save a baby? Did they have any idea that their donation—their life’s blood—would be given to my newborn to grant him more time? What more powerful gift could anyone ever give than life?

This memory came to mind today, near the anniversary of my son’s birth (and miraculous survival), and I realized—we are all recipients of donated blood. Yes, my son received a physical blood transfusion that potentially saved his life, but every person has been offered the sacrificial blood of Jesus: the ultimate blood donation. There is no more incredible gift than the gift of life. Jesus gave us true, everlasting life by his own blood. In that sense, we are all surviving on donated blood—the blood of Jesus.

My son finally received a conclusive diagnosis. There is no cure, but there is treatment for his condition. He is almost five years old now and thriving: he loves riding bikes, getting muddy, and all things dinosaurs.

I regularly ask Jesus to miraculously heal him, knowing this is the only way my son will have a life free of medications. It hasn’t happened yet, and I am at peace with that. I have peace for two reasons: First, my son is alive, and I know it’s only by the power of Jesus that he survived those weeks without treatment. Even if his body isn’t “perfectly healthy,” he’s alive—and I am thankful. Secondly, because of the perfect blood of Jesus, my son has been offered life everlasting—not on this broken earth, but in heaven. That promise and hope, supersedes even a temporary healing—no matter how miraculous—down here.

My son received a life-saving physical blood transfusion when he was 10 weeks old. But we both received a spiritual, eternal blood donation in the perfect sacrifice of God’s own son approximately 2000 years ago—and that blood donation is the one I will rely on and hope in.