Alright, I admit it. I'm a hemophobe, one who is hemophobic. Yup, an abnormal fear of blood. First, I exaggerate a bit. Second, it's really not that abnormal; many folks I know don't like to give blood for their own benefit or the benefit of others. What I'm grateful for is, my son did not pick up this fear from me. He donated a pint of his own blood (I have to put it that way because I'm all for donating someone else's blood.) for the first time yesterday and plans to do so again. The phlebotomist staff drawing the blood said that every pint saves three lives. Being a much better mathematician than I am, he has already calculated how many people he could save if he donates as often as he can for the remainder of his life. That's pretty cool.
There was more than one reason why he chose to donate,but I see a fingerprint of God in that he is most proud of helping someone else. That's God's way. He's also proud that he's not a wimp like his dad who must look away even for a blood test and is always prepared to faint when a needle needs to enter his body.
Thankful to God for my son's giving, and proud of this boy who is a man-size taller than me already.
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