She lay limp in my arms. Not a breath escaped from the perfectly formed mouth. Her fragile ribcage failed to rise and fall and I knew her tiny heart had ceased beating. And, for a moment, my own heart stilled. I paused in horror as my daughter’s lips, face, and body changed from the new-from-heaven shades of pink and cream to a dusky grey and then a deep, unsightly brackish color.
Cradling her tiny body in my arms, I began crying out. “Dave, the baby isn’t breathing!” In a blur of commotion, my child lay motionless atop her changing table–my husband exchanging his life’s breath with our unresponsive daughter. Listen…breathe…compress.
“Ma’am?” the voice passing through the receiver caught my attention. “Has your baby choked on something? Does she have a pulse?”
No. My baby was dead. There was no life remaining. One minute…two minutes. Still, the father breathed.
“Please, Lord. Don’t take the baby…not my baby!” My prayers emerged loud and desperate–pregnant with a mother’s agony. Three minutes…four minutes. There wasn’t even the flicker of an eyelid; only the steady rhythm of my husband’s counting–one, two, three, four, five.
Then…five minutes. The hands on the clock seemed to have stilled and the three of us were trapped in that moment. Suddenly, Heather gasped for air–an uneven rasping sound. At the same time, the firefighters pushed into the crowded nursery. Like us, they were unbelieving and surprised. My precious child was alive!
In much the same way, Christ saw his children helpless…dying…exempt from eternal hope. And without hesitation, He exchanged his own holy life for the lives of fatally sinful people. His life for mine…and yours. The moment of Christ’s last breath was a promise for our forever tomorrows. His precious children are truly alive!
Verse for Reflection: Colossians 2:13
