Surviving Chaos

As a father of six wonderful children and two that I will one day meet in eternity, I’ve had a front row seat to something that never gets old; the miracle of life.

There is a sense of awe that fills the room during a sonogram. I remember MJ lying on a cold table in a dimly lit room, belly exposed, as the computer screens jump to life. As the technician skillfully moves around trying to capture the perfect image, we see the first images of our treasured child. The technician points out the framework of the fingers, making sure to count all the digits. We’re shown the kidneys and lungs and eventually the outline of the precious beautiful face. MJ and I would often turn to each other, discussing who this one most resembles. Would they look like their siblings? What color hair might this one have? 

But then the room goes silent as the technician focuses on the fluttering mass in our child’s chest, a heart the size of a small olive, steadily and rhythmically beating fiercely. Without fail, I’d lose my composure when the technician turned up the sound to reveal the thumping flutter of the heart. I’d gently squeeze MJ’s hand, kiss her on the forehead ever so gently, capturing a proud daddy moment.

I remember the quieter moments at home, resting my head on her growing stomach. Then, in the stillness it came, a powerful kick; a roll of movement within. A tidal wave of motion reminded us that there was life inside. Laughter and joy would flood our hearts as we learned to anticipate what would come next.

David captured these moments beautifully in Psalms 139:14-16 where he said, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; I know that full well. 15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, 16 your eyes saw my unformed body.” 

There is something profound in that phrase, the secret place. Before anyone saw you, God saw. Before there was breath in our lungs, there was intention in His Heart.

This isn’t just poetic. It’s a window into how life is formed and how intimately God cares for us all. And yet, woven into that miracle is something we often overlook.

For nine months, a mother gives herself completely. Not in theory, not in symbolism. In a very real and physical way. Her strength, her energy, her very body becomes the place where life is sustained and matured. Without saying a word, her life is declaring: “This is my body, which is for you.”

It’s that kind of sacrifice that echoes what we hear from the communion table.

In 1 Corinthians 11:24, when Jesus sat down with His disciples, He took the bread and said those same words, “This is my body, which is for you.”

And in that moment, everything changed. Because that statement isn’t just familiar, it’s costly.

A mother gives her body so that a child can live. She gives her strength, her rest, her very self so another life can be made whole. It’s one of the most beautiful pictures of sacrificial love we will ever see.

But Jesus didn’t just reflect that picture, he completed it.

A mother’s sacrifice brings us into the world; Christ’s sacrifice brings us into eternity. A mother sustains life for a season; Christ sustains us forever.

And the heart that once fluttered in Mary’s womb is the same heart that stopped on the cross so that we might have life beyond the grave.

That’s what we hold in our hands today. Not just bread. Not just a cup. But the remembrance of a body given so that we can truly live.

So today, as you hold the bread and the cup, don’t just see them as symbols. See the love behind them, a God who entered the “secret place,” took on a body like yours, and offered it so that you could live forever with Him.

It’s here we celebrate a love that gives, a love that sustains, and a life that is both sacred and eternal.

Prayer

Father, we thank you for the miracle of life and for the intentional way you have formed us, sustained us, and given us meaning.

Today, we thank you for the women who have given of themselves so we could be here, not only in a physical expression, but also as spiritual mothers, mentors, and nurturers who have given us a place to grow. We thank you for every hand that has held ours and every heart that has mirrored your love.

And we thank you for Jesus, whose sacrifice is the ultimate picture of a life given for another. As we take the bread and the cup, help us to remember the depth of that love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.