All for Love

***This post includes a personal account of my son’s birth, which contains descriptions of labor, delivery, and related medical experiences. Readers may find this content emotionally triggering, especially those who have experienced traumatic births, pregnancy loss, or fertility challenges. Please take care of yourself, and skip this post if the subject matter is difficult for you.

Labor with my son was intense. Eight hours in, he was head-down but face-up, making delivery especially difficult. My epidural didn’t work properly, and my blood pressure spiked dangerously, requiring close monitoring. Despite it all, he appeared to be born healthy.

In our postpartum room, a nurse noticed his unusually red color and head swelling. She called the NICU doctor, whose calm, gentle presence instantly put us at ease. After examining him, she decided he needed closer observation in the NICU. My husband pushed his crib while I waited, unaware of the storm about to hit.

When he returned, he was in tears. Our son’s oxygen levels were dangerously low; he was on a ventilator and started on broad-spectrum antibiotics. The NICU team needed space to work, and we waited, panicked, until the doctor returned with news: they still didn’t know the cause, and he required a higher level of care. A life-flight was arranged, and we were allowed a brief visit.

In the NICU, surrounded by my husband and family, we walked down the hall crying, past a silent corridor of hospital staff. At least seven people were working around him. A preliminary echocardiogram revealed TGA—Transposition of the Great Arteries.

His head was fine, but his heart wasn’t.

We watched as the life flight team transferred him to the incubator, and before wheeling him off, they stopped in front of me. I reached my hand into the incubator to touch my son’s hand, and his little fingers wrapped around my finger super tight. I lost it. It was almost as if he wanted to reassure me he was going to be okay.

And just like that, they wheeled him away.

The nurse took us to a place where we could watch the helicopter take off. Ten hours after our son was born, he was being life-flighted away from us.

At six days old, he underwent open-heart surgery to switch his main arteries. Nine grueling hours, two on bypass, but the surgery was a success. We were told recovery would take 2–3 weeks, but our little fighter was home in just ten days, well before Christmas, with no complications and a clean scar.

In total, he spent five nights in the NICU, four in the PICU, and six in the IMU. Since then, he has had zero issues.

My son’s birth was the best/worst day of my life. I wish I could look back on that day and smile and beam with joy at the birth of my son, but I still cringe. I’m still wrecked from everything that happened. The trauma of that day. The emotional roller coaster. It’s not a story I like to relive.

And yet, when I look into my son’s blue eyes, and he’s grinning ear to ear, nothing but gums, I’d do it again. I don’t say that easily either. It was hell.

If Hell is pain and suffering for eternity, I’ve lived enough of it already. I’m good. But I’d do it again to see that smile.

My son was and is worth it.

And that, my friends, is what Easter is all about.

It’s about someone going through not just physical torture, but emotional torture because He knows the person He’s doing it for is worth it.

If my husband can be wrecked with sobs because his son MIGHT die, can you imagine how God felt KNOWING His son would die?

We cringed and were devastated at the thought of our son going into surgery. Yet God knew Jesus would suffer extreme physical pain without anything to ease it. At least our son had Tylenol.

I was so worried about how this would traumatize my son, and everyone just kept telling me, “He’s not going to remember this“. Guess what, Jesus remembers every stripe He took. He remembers the thorns cutting and slicing through his scalp. He remembers being stabbed. He remembers carrying the cross to Golgotha. He remembers the nails that were hammered into his hands. He remembers suffocating.

And yet, He would do it again. For you. For me.

Why? Not because we’re super righteous. Not because we give money to charity. Not because we look pretty on a pew every Sunday morning. Not because we’re a Pastor or write pretty music. Not because we donated a kidney. Not because we do good deeds.

He did it because He loves you.

He knew you’d screw up. Before we were ever formed in our mother’s womb, He knew us.

We read that scripture verse and get the warm fuzzy feelings because He knows us. Yes! He knows us! God knew we’d be food-indulging, judgmental, holier-than-thou, better-than-you, prettier-than-you, richer-than-you, drunk, high, murderous, and adulterous people.

And yet, He’d do it again.

He knew the same people who were throwing palms down for Him one day would be the same people who’d demand Him to be crucified another day.

And yet, He’d do it again.

He knew He would have a fifty-fifty shot at a relationship with you.

And yet, He’d do it again.

God is not interested in your mistakes. He’s not surprised by them. He is interested in having a relationship with you because He’s desperately in love with you.

The Friday that He walked through the streets, covered in His own blood, His body literally destroyed and unrecognizable, shreds of flesh just hanging from the bone; He didn’t want to do it. He even asked His Father if there was any other way. However, He did it anyway.

While he felt everything, His mind and His heart were focused on you.

Matthew 26:39 (MSG)

“Going a little ahead, he fell on his face, praying, “My Father, if there is any way, get me out of this. But please, not what I want. You, what do you want?”

Just like our son was on our minds constantly during his surgery, Christ was thinking about you during His death. How much He loved you. How much He wanted to set you free from sin and death. He wanted to return to that one-on-one relationship as he had with Adam in the garden.

You were always the prize.

Christ did what I desperately wished I could do when I learned my son needed surgery. I wanted to take away his pain and shield him from the trauma he would face. If I could have taken his place, I would have done it in an instant. That’s exactly what Christ did for us on the cross—He took our place.

As we know, Christ died, and then God raised Him from the dead on the third day.

1 Corinthians 15:3-4 (NIV)

“For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures....”

He’s alive. He’s real. And He lives with those who invite Him into their lives.

Matthew 28:6 (NLT)

“He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead....”

John 14:23 (NIV)

“Jesus replied, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.”

Every day, I tell my son God has great plans for him. I tell him that he is chosen. He is loved. He is wanted. He is desired. He is important. He matters. I tell him he was worth it.

God looks at you and says, “You are chosen. You are loved. You are wanted. You are desired. You are important. You matter. You were worth it.”

So when we celebrate the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, take a moment to really comprehend what He did for you.

Everything He did, He did it all for love.

Go for Gold. Subscribe today.