In a semi-conscious state I dragged myself from my bed after
what seemed like weeks of being incapacitated. Sick is my least favorite thing. It saps every ounce of my physical and mental energy. I don’t have the drive nor the desire to
even journal my ailing thoughts...record my ambling journey...or pen my nauseous
progress. After two days of lying
on the couch, drifting in and out of a zombie like coma with the TV droning in
the background…I could barely muster the strength to take a breath.
What is it about being sick that clouds my thinking and fills
my head with all manner of dark thoughts and deep doubts. What’s with all the wondering and
wandering down the dark dank halls of my mind? I go over and over a relentless litany of questions, misgivings
and fears.
Will I ever feel better? Am I going to die? Am I ready to meet my maker? Am I sick in
the head? I would like to know
what’s the point of being sick?
What purpose does it serve?
Is it an exercise in defeatism?
What? What? What? I just
want to give up and throw in the towel…I just want to lie down and groan.
Maybe sick falls into the suffering category. Maybe suffering is just a way God
allows me to have a little taste from the cup. Maybe it’s the way I can gain some understanding…some
understanding of who Jesus is. Maybe
it’s some way to acquire prospective...an opportunity to learn what Christ went
through…what he had to put up with.
I have to stop cursing the darkness, focus on the light at
the end of the tunnel and enjoy the chicken noodle soup.
Life is good, God is great, and people are crazy.
Amen.
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