Well, about 10 minutes after that battery pack hit me, I began feeling nauseated and so dizzy that I had to crawl—and as I got close to the bathroom, I passed out.  I woke up asking my six-year-old son, who was standing over me, "Who are you?"  I truly didn't know who he was, although I knew I should know.  Around midnight, our friend Steve took me to the emergency room, where they started asking questions like, "Who hit you?"  I explained that my husband was in California, that Steve wasn't my husband, and that a "man" hit me but he was a "tiny man" (as my two year old said then) and didn't mean to!  The hospital staff and I actually had some good laughs at how crazy the whole thing was.

But you know, as I was sitting in the emergency room that Friday night thinking of how much it hurt to be hit in the face, I thought of how much worse it must have hurt Jesus to be hit in the head and face again and again by grown men instead of a two-year-old!  How He even made it to the cross is unbelievable.  But as Bruce Marchiano has said, Jesus' life as a first-century carpenter would have perfectly conditioned His body to take that kind of abuse.  What He did for me!  I got just the tiniest taste of one little drop of it that Friday night, and I ended up with a concussion.  Even His brain had to endure the abuse so that He was still coherent enough to do what He came for and get to the cross.  How utterly amazing!  Jesus as a soft-skinned wimp?  I don't think so!