Covid 1

      I'm drained physically and drained emotionally. It took my writing it down to remember that's when Satan comes in for the kill. 

     I was aggravated when I realized one of our older daughters had come to the Christmas gathering visibly sick (not that I can say much after I let her sick, younger brother come to her birthday party). But it never occurred to me that it would be Covid and that their youngest sister and I would get a case of it that would wipe us out. Her sister does feel terrible about it and has since tested positive herself. Good news is we've all had it now, except my husband who has had the vaccine and two boosters. 

     I started coughing Monday and running a fever by that night. I was so sore that it hurt to take my bra off, like when I was nursing. I developed a miserable headache and cough for two more days, sometimes violently. I couldn't lie down without coughing uncontrollably. So, I sat up; they say that's better anyway. 

    Little sister's fever started a day after mine and didn't break until today, Friday. She had the head and eye aches but not much coughing. So, I gave her guaifenesin just in case, on top of vitamins C and D and zinc and nose spray. The humidifier has run for at least twelve hours a day, and, of course, we drank and slept as much as we could.

     The degree to which we had it surprised me. Even so, I thought I was recovering nicely, until today. I really don't feel good. Maybe I'm coming down from the holidays or the high alert of fighting the virus, or maybe I'm missing our new friends and know we won't see them or anyone anytime soon since we'll be quarantined another week. Whatever it is, I find myself crying pretty regularly.

     Slowing down is good, though. Being still and knowing that He is God is good. Maybe that's the crying trigger, that "My Life Is in His Hands," the Kirk Franklin song that played through my mind the first night I was sick, reminding me (with a hint of dramatic humor at myself) that, yes, He is in control for my good but who am I to assume I will get through this without complication?

     "Sitting still" lends itself to observations a person might otherwise not want to assess. Things really aren't much better around here. I still have and appreciate provision, protection, and direction but still crave relationship. I think it's okay to realize it and cry over it, but I can't stay in it, else, "But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing" (James 1:4) can't have its way in me. Satan would have me restless, discontent, and self-pitying. 

     I believe my past and my future are overlapping and that I MUST live in today, manipulating nothing. That's easier said than done and easier failed than won. It boils down to: do I trust God with my life or do I not? It's so simple, yet I give to God and take back so frequently. And here I go crying again, even though I'm told it's as easy as, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall have rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matt. 11:28-30). Matthew, a book I can't seem to leave, only to flip back and forth to the Psalms.  

     Not going to the gym for the third week (beginning with a case of laryngitis followed by my period then Covid) surely has an effect on me, not that there aren't things I could do at home, if only I felt better. Fact is being prohibited from my usuals is probably the only way I'll slow down for spiritual growth. After all, I know very little about how things really ought to be or if I'm doing anything right at all. I know that I need to stop babying my 16-year-old son, permitting my 13-year-old daughter, and reacting to my 53-year-old husband.

      Just when I think I have it together, I'm undone before the Lord. Apparently, that's where I have to stay, 

       where we all have to stay.

(Originally written in 2022)