In my more than thirty years of pastoral partnership with Ron Cox at Kingwood Church, my mind has amassed dozens of humorous stories that we experienced together in ministry. I learned quickly to “expect the unexpected” when working with Pastor Ron. He is like a lightning rod, attracting bizarre and unpredictable strikes in his direction. It’s not that terrible things occur when he’s around, but that hanging around Ron Cox sometimes opens the door to rare adventures—usually originating from life’s most common circumstances.

One of those “never to be forgotten” moments occurred when Pastor Ron and I were doing routine hospital visits one hot, summer afternoon in downtown Birmingham. We had made a trip to the UAB Hospital’s state-of-the-art neo-natal unit to visit a sick child. While we were there we discovered that one of our church members was a specialty nurse on the unit. She was eager to show us around her workplace, and even allowed us minister to some of the families who were desperately hoping for their tiny loved ones to get well. The quick visit turned into a long and busy ministry opportunity which we welcomed with open arms.

Just before we left, the nurse took us to the part of the unit where the most delicate premature birth babies were struggling for survival. Both Ron and I were moved by the tiny children we saw gasping for breath and fighting for their lives in the incubators. One of them had been born so prematurely that his razor thin skin was nearly transparent. We could actually see his internal organs, and watched his tiny heart beat like it was under opaque glass. The neo-natal nursery was amazing.

As we exited the high-tech unit I could feel my stomach getting queasy. The pitiful sight of those tiny babies was more than I could handle. A sudden onrush of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. My head began to swim and I could feel my face becoming pale. At the same time Pastor Ron announced, “I am so sick, Mark. I think I’m going to black out.”

“Me too,” I muttered. I knew I had to lie down somewhere—immediately. “Hey, Ron,” I said in a faint whisper, “I’m going to lie down here just a minute until I feel a little better.” I slowly sunk onto my knees and then stretched out across the cool tile floor, trying to do anything to keep from fainting. Meanwhile, Ron was gently sinking to the floor as well, searching for a quick and safe resting place before he hit the floor with a thud.

We were a sight lying there—two grown men in suits and ties, lying spread-eagle and hugging the cold floor in the middle of the hall. Several medical professionals scurried over to us when they saw us hit the deck. “Are you guys okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I somehow mumbled. “Give me a couple of minutes. I’ve got to cool off my face on this floor. It’s no big deal.” That made perfect sense to me at the time, although I’m certain the guy who heard it thought I had lost my mind. I don’t know how long they stayed with us, but we eventually got up and made our way out of the hospital (great men of faith that we were). I’m certain we were the subject of more than a few laughs that day in the doctor’s lounge.

Just the other day my wife, Peggy, and I were reminiscing about that hilarious happening at the hospital, trying to figure out just exactly what caused Pastor Ron and I both to be so overwhelmed that day.  I have always been puzzled about why we reacted that way.  It didn’t take long for Peggy to make sense of it for me.  It was like a wise revelation.  She stepped backstage and pulled back the curtain of clarity for me.   “Mark,” she said, “It was your Psalm 139:14 moment.”

“What?” I responded.

“Your Psalm 139:14 moment.  You know, the one where David realized that he was ‘fearfully and wonderfully made.’  You had seen first-hand the handiwork of God in creating a living soul, and you were both overwhelmed– in awe of the greatness of the Creator, and of the doctors and nurses who were working around the clock to save the life that was so unique and precious, and eternal.”

I think Peggy was right.  We had just seen a newly created life in all its frailty, and in all of its wonder.  It was like we had peered into the womb and saw what God was knitting and weaving together, all still in progress.  And we were overwhelmed.  Blown away. Wiped out.

• Like Isaiah who “saw the Lord, high and lifted up” in Isaiah 6, we were “undone.”
• Like the king in Daniel 5 who saw the finger of God write on the wall, our “face turned pale…legs became weak….and knees were knocking.”  
• Like Daniel himself in chapter 10 when he had seen a great vision he “had no strength left in him…his face turned deathly pale….  was helpless. ….with his face to the ground.”

Even while writing this I am overwhelmed when I ponder that considering everything God created, only people will last forever.  Yes, once a person is created, and even while still in the womb, that person is an eternal creation.  The body will someday die, but the person will live forever– either with the Creator, or apart from Him– but it will be for forever.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
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.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them.  

Psalm 139:13-17