Yesterday I sat in the doctor's office with a lot of time to kill, so I passed the time by flipping through my medical chart. Okay, so I wasn't so much randomly flipping through my file as I was very intentionally looking in there for anything I could find about March 20, 2007.
That was the day I was blindsided to find out the son I was carrying no longer had a heartbeat.
I found the ultrasound pictures and just stared at them. From the still shots, you couldn't tell anything had gone wrong, because there was a baby. There just wasn't a heartbeat. I cried as I looked at the pictures.
But it was much more difficult to read the medical report following the surgery I'd had the following day. It was so cold, so clinical.
It referred to my baby as "products of conception."
I absolutely get the fact that they have to use medical terms. But what they called "products of conception," I only knew as my child. The one I wanted to name and hold. The one I hoped to play with and pray over.
It made me consider the heart of my Heavenly Father who watched as a crowd crucified His child. They accused Him, they ridiculed Him, and they said He was a blasphemer.
But the Father knew exactly who Jesus was--the King of Kings. The Messiah. The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. But in those moments when He watched His own child breathe His last, I wonder if He looked upon Jesus and thought...
"I just know Him as My Son."