Christ Figure is common terminology in the creative writing departments of even the most staunchly secular universities because of the irresistible

beauty of the Christian redemption story. Beauty with one major blemish, blood. Christianity is unapologetically

bloody. Old Testament war, a temple sacrificial system, Jesus'

cross, and all the early church reflection on Jesus' blood in the New Testament letters,

it reads like the beauty of a Virginia wolf novel and the violence of a Tarantino flick rolled

into one. We remember Jesus by drinking his blood.

We sing hymns like, what can wash away my sins?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

Don't think too hard about that metaphor.

You'll picture yourself in the climactic scene

of an Edgar Allan Poe horror story.

When Hank, our oldest son, was born,

Kirsten lost a lot of blood during delivery. So the excitement of greeting our son upon his

arrival into the world was immediately replaced by the fear that runs over you when a medical

team is rushing and speaking in jargon, you don't understand

except you know it's not good.

What's going on?

Just hold the baby, Dad.

Congratulations.

We've got to get Mom some help right now.

Over the next 24 hours, Kay received leaders of blood.

I later learned that she would have died without them.

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