I took Chloe to the doctor last week. When we walked in the door, the nurse (I’ll call her “Susie”) met us with a smile. “Hi, Mr. Myers. Hello, Chloe. How are you today?” Susie was friendly, efficient and good with the children. I always liked her.

“We’re fine,” I said. “We’re here for Chloe’s checkup.”

“Okay,” she said. She looked down at the chart. “Uh-oh, it looks like Chloe’s going to get shots today.”

“Shots?”

“Yes, sir. But don’t worry,” she said with a light laugh, “they won’t hurt a bit.”

Honestly, who did Susie think she was lying to? She was going to jab an enormous needle into my little baby, and she’s telling me it isn’t going to hurt a bit?

I never did like that awful woman.

I clutched Chloe to me as I watched Susie prepare the vaccination. Then she walked toward us, a maniacal gleam in her eye. She grabbed Chloe’s leg and jabbed the needle home.

Chloe screamed.

Daddy cried.

As much as I hate Chloe getting shots, they are a necessary evil. And it really is a fascinating process. An inactive strain of a virus is injected into her body. Her body creates antibodies which will recognize and attack any active strain of the virus that she may later become exposed to. It protects her from having to deal with a more lethal form of the virus later on.

Still, I didn’t want her to have to get a shot, because I know it’s painful. I didn’t want Chloe to have to suffer.

Our heavenly father did something similar for us. Knowing that the effects of sin in our lives would be devastating, he provided a very different kind of vaccine: his own son.

Jesus didn’t come to give us an inactive form of sin so we could build up defenses against it. Instead, Jesus took the active form of sin, with all its devastating consequences, upon himself (2 Corinthians 5:21). His death on the cross “vaccinated” us from the eternal consequences of our sins.

Did God want Jesus to suffer? Absolutely not. But God was willing to let Jesus pay the price for our sins so that we wouldn’t have to suffer later as a result of them.

As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Susie was doing us a favor, after all.

We started our little adventure through the neighborhood with Chloe sitting in the wagon and me pulling it.  Things quickly went downhill from there.

For about half a block, she was content to sit still and let me do all the work.  Then she wanted out so she could walk.  After about ten minutes of walking, she wanted to pull the wagon herself.  I tried to talk her out of it but she was so insistent, I finally let her.

It was quite a sight to see.  She did very well at the beginning, but she lacked the ability to control its direction.  It kept heading toward the middle of the street, requiring me to make course corrections every few minutes.

When we went down a hill, the wagon picked up speed and the tires hit her heels, tripping her.  Several times I put my hand on the wagon to slow its descent and keep it from running her over, but as soon as she saw my hand on the wagon she’d scream, “I do it!  I do it!”

When we went up a hill, she tugged and tugged, switching the handle from one hand to the other.  I asked her if she wanted help, but she refused.  Her breath came in short puffs, punctuated by the occasional grunt as she made a Herculean effort to pull the wagon to the top.

I was reminded of “The Little Engine That Could” but instead of “I think I can, I think I can,” Chloe’s mantra was, “I do it!  I do it!”

Finally she stopped.  The wagon’s metal handle fell to the street with a “clang.”  She looked up at me with reddened cheeks and a sweaty brow.  The three little words I’d been waiting for finally came: “You do it.”

With a smile on my face I looked down at this 2-year-old child who’d given such a valiant effort.  There was no defeat in her request, just the simple knowledge that her daddy would finish what she’d started. I picked her up in my arms, grabbed the handle of the wagon, and carried her home.

How many times do we struggle along through life, pulling a weight our heavenly father never intended for us to carry?  He’s waiting for us to admit that we can’t do it by ourselves, and relinquish control of it to him.

There’s no defeat in coming to that conclusion, for our heavenly father will then take possession of our burdens and carry them for us, giving us rest for our weary souls (Matthew 11:28-30).