When I was ten years old, I was sure that I wanted to grow up to be a veterinarian. Living on a farm, there were plenty of cats and dogs and bunnies to care for. One spring I had 2 rabbits that quickly turned into 32 bunnies, giving me a classic farm girl lesson on reproduction. That summer I found a sickly little abandoned baby raccoon and tried with all my might to nurse it back to health. Bandit, the raccoon, would drink formula from a doll’s bottle. His little clawed feet would wrap around my fingers as he sucked away. Unfortunately, the little critter didn’t recover and there was a funeral service in the pet cemetery.
When my 4-H club offered a Veterinary Science project, I signed right up. The meetings would be held in a real vet’s office in town and I was positive this was the start of my future career. The night of the first class arrived and my mom dropped me off. I noticed most of the other kids were a lot older but I was excited! A real vet’s office! With all kinds of cute dogs and cats and bunnies! In fact, the first animal the vet brought out was a white rabbit; it looked a lot like the one in my hutch at home. The doctor was pointing out all the body parts and I was right up in front, eagerly following along.
The frantic look in the eyes of that cute bunny should have tipped me off. Or maybe I should have read the description of this class more carefully the day I signed up. A realization slowly came over me. As the vet arranged various sharp utensils on his tray, I began to sweat. The impending doom of what was about to happen made me dizzy and I backed up behind a bigger kid. All of a sudden, the bunny murderer committed his crime. As the now lifeless rabbit lay on the table and the fluffy white fur began to soak up the red blood, the room started spinning. I stumbled out.
I went outside and sat on the steps of the vet’s office and cried. While all the other kids were inside learning about the heart and lungs and digestive system of small mammals, I was crying my eyes out. I never went back to that class and I never talked about being a veterinarian again.
There’s something about seeing the blood. It makes some of us cringe, others pass out. I’ve seen a few very graphic films on the crucifixion of Jesus. It’s still the blood that makes me cry. The blood of the lamb on the doorposts, the blood of the Lamb on the cross – such a high price to pay. His life for mine. It’s a good thing that the Easter story doesn’t end with the cross and a bloody Savior. A resurrected Lord with a new, cleaned-up body is what gives me hope for my sin-stained heart.
What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus
What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.