The bitterness stung. But I knew I had to swallow. It was the only way to get well. My grandmother, in her motherly wisdom, plucked leaves from our tree and drew a bath of warm water. She brewed piping hot tea that soothed inflamed glands. She cooked comfort and I gulped gladly. Baby steps to curing a fever.
When fever burns through your skin and your throat feels like sandpaper, can we really look for Grace? For God in this mess?
I close my eyes. To look closely at the functioning of your body is to admire the handiwork of God. In His Image. Yep, that’s me. And you. And I see Him everywhere.
When we are weak, He is strong. As I lie draped in a warm comforter, my body is healing. I don’t know how, for of course, I cannot see. But I know it to be true. I don’t need to see. I simply believe. The body is, of many things, also a tool to discover His miracles.
I delegate responsibilities at work, allow myself to be taken care of. Just lean quiet into experiencing recovery.
It won’t help- how many hours I exercise, the number of words I read, or the number of TV episodes I can watch when I’m unwell. Because the wisest decision I can make is to rest. That will make me stronger. Because when I am fully depleted, I can be filled anew. It is the truth of the body. Of the Spirit.
Because you know Who can heal you. So you do what is right. Rest. To rest is a verb. An action word. Yes, it is something to do. Not a passive, limp and lazy nothing.
And it is hard. To admit you can’t help yourself.
But it is holy. It is good. It is worship.
Even our heavenly father rested. After 6 days of magnificant creation. (Genesis 2)
The God who made each curving nerve, your thumping blood and your musical pulse.
It begins gently, suddenly- musical rain shaking trees and moving sand- and I fight an urge to run wild and be drenched in the dripping blessings of Heaven. But as I sit behind window grills and moist window sills, I realise I am soaking in blessings too. I rest in God and I’m healing and that’s what I need most today.
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