Lenten Love #21

“I didn’t know I inadvertently was giving up my health for Lent.” –Megan Gray (my wife)

           

So while she only meant it jokingly, the truth is that is exactly what it feels like.  While I have attempted to put a good front for the better part of three weeks, we have absolutely been gutted by sickness.  All four of us are on the same antibiotics right now for Strep Throat and the stomach bug has made multiple visits, sometimes staying much longer than just 12 or 24 hours.  Every time we turn around someone is calling to be picked up from school or to come home from work.

            

So I’ll admit it, I’m weary.  I hate being the one always talking about being sick and down.  I hate even thinking about comparing my life to so many others who are hurting and are in pain. Our sickness is so small in the big scheme of things.  Others are dealing with much worse.  But in truth, I feel like I am being pecked to death by ducks.  And it is exhausting, not just physically, but mentally and spiritually. 

Even in this high holy season of Lent, I’m having a hard time staying on track.  My morning devotion and Bible reading time, time I dedicate to God, has become nothing more than repetitious endeavor to placate my guilty conscience.  I’m finding the Psalmists words about ‘revenge’ and Paul’s ramblings about ‘the Law’ to be less than inspiring than I had hoped. Even as I lament this fact, I come to the realization that I have turned God into nothing more than a self-help genie.  I need something and I expect to find answers just by opening up a random devotion book and/or scripture passage. Just like Aladin, I’m rubbing the lamp so I can make my wish.  “Dear God, make me feel better, speak to me and my pain, help me out.” Me. Me. Me.  And I can just hear God say, “I know about you, what about me? Have you ever thought about stopping all the reading and looking, and just simply taking time to be with me? That’s what I really want.”  Isn’t that how God appeared to Elijah, as a still, small voice?  And to Jonah, in the quiet, desperate isolation of the belly of a fish?  Or to Saul/Paul, in the extreme loneliness of blindness?  So in our brokenness and sickness, may we draw ever closer to the heart of God, finding something even bigger and better than we could have ever imagined.

Blessings on wherever you find yourself,

Brad
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