Jenny knew the sobering statistics: Less than 5 percent of the population gives blood, yet 97 percent will be affected by a life-saving blood donation—either for themselves, a family member, or close personal friend. She believed if Christians could understand the significance of donating blood, they could meet the blood needs of the whole world. I agreed. Who better to understand the importance of giving blood than those who are covered by the blood of Jesus?

Jenny believed God had given her life a profound purpose that went beyond school or softball or even recovering from leukemia.

She never wavered in her faith, nor did she ask God, "Why me?"

But I did.

I was at my lowest ebb during the summer of 1993, when Jenny was receiving a bone marrow transplant at the Lucille Salter-Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford University. The procedure takes the patient to a point where she has no immune system left, and any kind of germ could kill her.

That particular moonlit night, I rested under a big bay window in her hospital room. Jenny was asleep. Sleep was precious to her then. I was feeling lonely and vulnerable, and I began to sob softly. In that moment, I asked, Why, God? Why is this happening to her? She loves You so much. Where are You?

Then I sensed in my spirit a still, small voice saying: "Here I am, Dean. Here I am." My eyes focused to the right of her bed. The moon coming in the window illuminated the iv pole, casting the shadow of a huge cross on the wall. "Here I am, Dean." On the pole was a bag of blood.

In that instant, I thought of the life-giving blood that poured out of Jesus as He hung on the cross. Later I wondered about His blood type. Surely He was O-negative, the universal donor. That blood can save anyone.

Through that long night, as God comforted me, I thought about the three main components of blood—red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets—and considered how they each represent Him.

Red blood cells are like God the Father, the author of life. They bring oxygen, the breath of life, to every cell in our body. White blood cells are like God the Son, our advocate and defender. They fight against that which infects us. Platelets are like God the Holy Spirit, our healer. They are sticky cells that rush to the site when we are cut and form a clot that closes the wound and helps us heal.?

I gasped, astonished to see the Trinity so clearly revealed in the blood.

In the days that followed, I began searching the Scriptures for more understanding about the significance of blood. In Leviticus 17:10-11, I read that life is in the blood. Blood was given as an atonement. Blood belonged to God, to be poured out before Him in sacrifice.

When Jenny died on October 28, 1995, a month before her 22nd birthday, she lost her battle with leukemia, but she fulfilled her purpose in life. Just before she died, I promised her that I would carry on that work. To me, it was like receiving a spiritual transfusion.

At Jenny's memorial service, I urged people to give blood in her memory and to consider becoming regular donors (giving every eight weeks). For many, the importance of donating blood finally hit home. I gave my first speech two days after we buried Jenny, speaking in her place at a Rotary Club meeting.

Hundreds of faithful donors kept our daughter alive and gave us almost four more years together—a gift beyond measure. Four precious years that Jenny enjoyed as she finished high school and started college, an optimistic pre-med major. Four years of celebrating birthdays, Christmases, and family outings. That's what blood donors gave us. Not just blood, but four more years for this father to watch his daughter mature into a young woman and fall in love with a wonderful young man. Four more years of father-daughter talks into the wee hours of the morning, just the two of us.?