The knife cut deep, the blood flowed freely. He winced, grateful for the mask which hid his expression. His reaction confused him. How many times had he done this before? Yet there was this feeling of sadness, a grief so deep he was on the verge of tears. He looked down at the face of this young boy, barely 12 and already his life was filled with pain and suffering, yet it never seemed to bother him. Always optimistic and encouraged, he gave hope to others around him. People seemed drawn to him.
His mind wandered as he recalled a story told to him long ago by his mother. It too involved a young man who's life was surrounded by pain and suffering. She spoke fondly of this young man's journey. How he inspired hope and offered rest for the weary. How people would flock to hear him and beg just to be touched by him. Once again the surgeon felt a wave of grief as he remembered how the story ended. A crown of thorns, nails, a cross, the images flooded his thoughts and a tear ran down his face. Again his reaction confused him, for he had heard the story many times, yet this time something was different. His heart had been pierced, but instead of pain he felt peace.
He looked once again at the boy on the table and he understood. In the same way he needed to remove his leg in order to save his life, so too did this man Jesus need to die in order to save ours.
A nurse then asked a question and he responded with a nod. He handed the instruments to his assistant and told him to finish up. He then turned and left the room.
Two were healed that day!
