I'm a chicken. About everything. And I suppose I am a chicken because I am a creature of comfort. If it is uncomfortable, painful, and unnecessary I don't want to do it. However, ever since I was old enough to give blood, I have felt compelled to do so, even though I hate needles with every fiber of being. I've only tried to give blood once - when I was 17. I was such a basket case by the time they had the rubber band on my arm, that they just told me to go. Now after having poked and prodded through 2 pregnancies, I have agreed to go with John to give blood for the church's blood drive. He kept saying I didn't have to go and made me promise not to be a baby for the rest of the day if I did it. I said I would be fine. Sure, I would not deal as well as he would, but I could do it this time! Of course, now I'm getting anxious as we are at T-24 hours. Ugh. But I have always looked at like this. How can I deny giving my blood to help save lives when Christ died a horrible death to save everyone? Not that you can compare the two. I'm just saying. Jesus was willing to die to save a world and all I have to do is give ONE pint of blood. And they'll probably even give me some cookies and a sticker. This is as brave as I get, world!