The Ultimate Hand-Me-Down

My brother-in-law received the ultimate of all hand-me-downs early this morning. He underwent a heart transplant.

A. Heart. Transplant.

As in... take out the old one that has really been lettin' him down lately and put in a new (used) one that'll pick up right where the weak one left off. Pretty-much.

Wow.

It's a 'simple' surgery they say. They quoted three hours, but it ended up taking six and a half. Still... that's not so long considering they sawed open his sternum (too much information?), took out the damaged thumper, sewed in a new (used) one nice and neat and then wired all those ribs back in place.

Wow.

I was (still am) here in Africa feeling light-years away from my sister, whose husband is the one undergoing this medical miracle. She's in my heart, my best friend since birth (minus the usual couple rocky years in sister-hood that I can't remember). And so I was awake much of the night praying for all things heart-transplanty.

And I kept getting this impression in my mind's eye of Jesus gently and reverently lifting the heart from the body of the donor. He's grieved for the life that has just ended. He's heavy for the family who has just lost a dear loved one.

Then He turns, thinks of Dave, and joy floods over him as He carefully and gingerly transports the heart to it's new home. Along the way He's mending it, molding it, changing it to perfectly fit into it's new owner's body. This is a moment He's been waiting for.

Then He's in the operating room. And He is placing the heart in the space left by the old heart. The doctors are there. The nurses are there. But this job? It really belongs to Jesus. It's His hands doing the work. It's His expertise. It's His miracle. It's His gift to Dave.

And what a miraculous gift it is.