Even though you cannot close your eyes, I want you to imagine what I have written – a story told to me by my sister, who got it from a Christian counselor at a Christian camp.

Imagine you're a married adult with a child living in America – if you don't, just bear with me. I'm not trying to say America is the best.

There's a rumor circulating around that a new disease appeared in Africa, and is infecting millions, maybe even killing them. Although you are saddened by this, you are not very concerned overall.

Soon it's clear that the rumor is true – and the disease, now a plague, has spread to Sweden. You maintain your earlier feelings.

In a few months, it's hit South America, along with half the world. Updates on the plague is the main subject on TV, the radio, the newspapers. Any time now, it will hit North America.

Scientists and doctors have discovered the best way to find the cure is to obtain pure blood – blood from someone who has not yet caught the sickness. So you and your spouse and little boy go to a medical office for tests to be done. After awhile, the doctor who did the tests calls you in. Leaving your spouse and boy in the waiting room, you go to talk with him.

The doctor gets right down to business. "One of you has pure blood."

"Well, that's great," you say. "Who is it?"

"It's your son."

"Okay..."

"If you want us to use his blood for the cure, I just need you to sign these papers."

You read the papers, and something catches your eye. When it tells how much blood will need to be drawn from the individual, there's no percentage number. You point this out to the doctor, and his face is grave and sad.

"We didn't put a percentage because we thought the person with the pure blood would be an adult. We didn't know it would be a child."

Worry gnaws at a corner of your mind. "What are you saying?"

"We need to take all of your son's blood."

You stare at him for a moment, disbelieving. A long period of silence follows. "You...you're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was. We need all of it. And we can't replace it, or else he'll get the plague."

You sit there, unable to comprehend this evilness. It's your son's life or the lives of millions of people that you have to choose from. The apple of your eye versus people you don't even know. Your offspring or strangers.

And yet... as much as you want to deny it, you know many others – perhaps the whole world – will die without this cure.

"All we need is your signature."

And so, choked with anger and grief, you sign your name for the drawing to be approved.

They give you an hour to spend the last moments with him where you desperately try to explain what's at stake, what you've done. But through his own tears and fear, he replies, "Don't worry, Daddy. This is something I've got to do. Then everyone will be well again."

And as they lead your little boy into the examination room, you know you did the right thing, no matter how harsh the cost.


AN: For those of you who don't get it: The disease is sin, the little boy is Jesus, and you are God. Not really God, I mean - this story was just to communicate the Father's feelings at the crucifixion, and to give us a better understanding of what Jesus did. If this disturbed you, I don't blame you. But hallelujah, Christ lives again!