Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever. (I Chronicles 16:34)
A week from now is Christmas. As week ago, I began saying, “Am I coming down with a cold? Nahhh.” Four days ago, I admitted that I had a cold. Mark Twain supposedly said that visitors are like fish. After three days, both stink. I’m either on day four or day seven. That means it’s like one of Alexander’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days… except it’s not. It’s more like being pecked to death by ducks. Every “bite” is insignificant – more an irritation than an injury. Perhaps almost every bite. There choir’s anthem tomorrow is a song I wanted to sing. It’s not likely to happen. That bite hurts.
It's 4 pm and I was
supposed to have this blog written this morning (yesterday to you.) But I don’t
even have a passage from Scripture. And part of me says that I should be writing
something upbeat about next year. It’s “bad business” to be down in the mouth.
Another part of me says “Be vulnerable. Everyone has bad days.”
But it’s not a bad day.
I’ve gone to work feeling worse than I feel. I’ve led worship with laryngitis.
It’s not like I have COVID, or Cancer, or Rabies. But… fish and guests. So I wonder what Jesus would think of my illness
and my attitude. I’m not demon possessed. I’m not at death’s door. I haven’t
suffered with my problem for 12 or 38 years. It’s just a stupid head cold, and
I’m old enough now that my body doesn’t kick them out the door on day three.
I gave myself permission to putter for the past several days, but… guests
and fish. So now I’m whimpering and wishing someone would give me a bowl of chicken
soup, but knowing that I’d be embarrassed if they did. I don’t need no stinkin’
soup. What I need is a TARDIS so I can suffer to my heart’s content without
losing time.
But that’s not the way God works, and when it comes down to it, I may
grumble and growl, but I know God is good and his way is best.
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