Every week, I am humbled and privileged to partake of the Lord’s Supper. Christ has commanded that we remember and proclaim His death until He comes again (1 Corinthians 11:26). And so, every week since becoming a Christian, I have taken “communion” as we call it. I have dwelled upon the fact that Jesus died for me. I have examined and reexamined Isaiah 53. I have read, who can count how many times, the accounts of Jesus’ brutal execution. Each and every week, these thoughts are special. The few, brief moments of worship that we set aside to proclaim His death on the cross, those moments are always special. But lately, communion has been a little different. My oldest child is very much a three year old. She loves to ask questions. She is so very curious about anything and everything. For the last few months, she’s been asking all the things about communion. So, while I have been thinking of what Jesus did for us, I’ve also been explaining why He hurt His hands, what the crown of thorns was, and how it’s sad that Jesus had to die on the cross for our sins while also being something happy. It hasn’t been as emotional as I would like because, well, this season of life is what it is. A few weeks ago, though, my second child – a son – was born. During communion these days, I’m cuddling a perfect, precious newborn boy. A perfectly sinless, precious, wonderful boy. And ok, sometimes I’m still answering questions, or, let’s be real, shushing, but mostly, I’m an emotional wreck. Why? Because of that perfect little boy in my arms. That little boy is giving me loads and loads of appreciation for my Father and helping me worship Him. You see, God the Father sent Jesus – God Himself – to earth in the form of a perfectly sinless, precious little boy. This boy would grow into a perfectly sinless, precious Man that would be cruelly beaten and mocked and, ultimately, murdered. And God let that happen. God allowed His only begotten Son to die, for me. For you. For every single person you will ever read about or encounter. I cannot imagine allowing my son to feel an ounce of pain if it were at all preventable. I cried as he got his heel pricked over and over again in the hospital as they were trying to regulate his blood sugars. I cried when they told me they’d had to puncture his chest with a needle – and these things were done for his good. These things were done in a way so as to cause the least amount of pain. And still, as a parent, it hurt me that he had to endure any of it. And Jesus? He was tortured in a way so as to inflict the most amount of pain possible. His pain wasn’t for His own good – it was for our good. And God allowed that to happen. He looked down and chose us. He chose to let Jesus suffer so that we could go to heaven. How much must God love us? It is, as the mom of a newborn baby boy, an unfathomable amount. So communion looks a little different for me now. It’s so much less about me and so much more about praising my God and thanking Him for the perfect gift of His perfect Son Jesus. Our God is so, so good. I am humbled and awe-struck by His great love and the way He pursued me. May I devote my whole life to giving thanks to Him and showing His great love to others.