Life is filled with many choices, and many opportunities to make good choices - choices that help others. But what happens when these choices - life-giving choices - bring fear? Do we soldier on because we know we’re making a right choice, or do we stop and reconsider?

Recently, my paperwork came in to renew my driver’s license. My son, especially, was interested in just what that process involved. I don’t remember if he looked at my license or saw paperwork that came in the renewal envelope, but somewhere, he saw the words “Organ Donor” and wondered what that meant. I was quite happy to give him a moderately pleasant description of what organ donation means, and why someone would willingly volunteer to be an organ donor. I was confident that my reply answered his questions, and conveyed the potential for saving a life. After all, it’s a great thing to be able to help someone in time of need, especially when our earthly body won’t serve us anymore.

For a few days, his questions continued:
“Why would someone want to be an organ donor?”
“How do you get the organs out of the body?”
(my original answer glossed over this with a short statement to the effect of, “…the organs are harvested….”)
“How do the organs get into another body?”
“So you’d be dead?”
“If your organs can help someone else, why can’t your organs help you?”
“Why wouldn’t they try to fix up your body before they just give your organs away?”

I thought these were all valid questions, and I sensed his reservation, and maybe even fear, in the questions. But, this was MY driver’s license and ultimately MY choice to help someone else, right? So I continued answering him, while trying to downplay the whole aspect of one person (in this case, me, his mom) needing to be dead in order to give a life-giving gift to someone else.

And then, it happened.

We were driving yesterday, just the two of us, and were about halfway to our destination. ”I don’t want you to die,” I heard him say, in a mostly strong voice. When he throws out a statement like that, it’s his way of expressing his fear or hesitancy about a situation. I assured him that even though I was an organ donor, that had nothing to do with whether I would die any sooner or not. Only God knows when our time here is over, and when He is ready to call us home.

I tried, with all the assurance I could muster, to tell him that it was my choice - and a good choice - but I realized the fear that my choice held for him. No matter what I said, or how many assurances I gave, I had to also say, “Only God knows when He is ready to take us home.” That statement is nebulous, at best, for any of us. But when my son is looking for strong assurances that he can hold fast to, I realized that just wouldn’t cut it.

And so I made a promise. A hard promise, but I believe, a right promise. I promised him that I would be sure they did not classify me as an Organ Donor on my new driver’s license. (After all, if I truly want to donate organs, there are other ways I can be sure that happens. A driver’s license is not the be-all, end-all of organ donor identification.)

Today I went to renew my license. I took a number. When it was my turn, I answered the information requested of me, I signed my name, and I kept a promise. I did not select to be an organ donor. If that is one choice that I can make that will bring peace of mind to my own child, I need to make that life-giving choice for him before I consider life-giving choices outside my home. It was my promise to him, that, as much as I am able, our family will always come first.