I stepped through the doors of the blood center yesterday, feeling nervous.

Not because I’m afraid of needles. I’m not.

But because I’ve tried this before without too much success.

I’m what they call the universal donor: type O negative. So I felt it my duty to help out by donating my valuable blood.

I secretly refer to myself as the “untapped vein” (pun intended).

Even when they take little bits of blood from me, as in a lab test, I’m stingy. Last time I attempted to donate, they could only get half a pint from my arm. That’s why I’m nervous.

One doc told me I have teeny, tiny veins.

Anyway, the grateful phlebotomists at the blood center hooked me up and watched a pretty good stream of precious O negative blood flow down the tube. Then, it happened…again.

The vein stopped flowing. For fifteen tense minutes, two nervous phlebotomists positioned and re-positioned the big needle in my arm. I dutifully squeezed the ball in my hand. They murmured something about possibly hitting a “valve” in my vein that kept opening and shutting.

Finally, with just seconds to spare, they got their pint. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

I hate that about my body. Teeny, tiny veins. I just want to help, but my body betrays me.

I remember what Jesus said to His disciples as they waited with Him the night before His crucifixion. “The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.”

Yep, that’s me. A weakling. In so many, many ways.

Good thing God already knows that. He knows my spirit is willing. And that there are so many things I would like to do for Him to show my love, my gratefulness for all He’s done for me.

In another month or two I’ll try to donate again. Maybe there’s a trick to this I haven’t yet discovered, like running a mile before I arrive at the blood center, or drinking a gallon of water.

And if those things don’t work, I’ll stick with donating canned goods.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men…” (Col. 3:23 NIV Bible)