A Friday in December
I think I forget what it's like to be sick until I'm sick again. I have a renewed empathy for all the cold-sufferers of the world right now. (And those with much worse conditions.) It's funny, because a few weeks ago, when I was really busy and just wanted some time to relax at home, I remember half-wishing I could be sick for a few days. Not really sick, just a little bit sick. I take it back!
I've had the last few days all to myself in my cozy little apartment with the constant rain pattering outside. Perfect for all those things I was going to read and do. And what have I actually done? Basically nothing. Unless you count the endless chores of refilling my water bottle, brewing cold-fighting concoctions, trips to the bathroom, cooking decent food, cleaning it all up, and writing about two Christmas cards. Oh, I've been busy, but not much to show for it--not even my health.
But I decided to take a few minutes break to do a little free-writing here. Never fear, my toilet paper roll is nearby (ran out of tissues a few hours ago), so I'm ready to go. I have decided to tell the story of my Friday.
Friday morning I woke up and debated what to do with my day. I knew I was on the edge of sickness, but felt like I had one more day out in the world before I must enter quarantine and misery. So I compromised. I would make a few short visits, stop by two stores, and then settle in for the weekend.
My first visit was a lady who lives in an assisted living facility. I've visited her for the last few years, although it's only about once a month since I moved farther away. When I found her room, it was empty, so I left the Christmas card and headed out, a little disappointed. Half-way back to the entrance, I saw her in her wheelchair, and pushed her back to her room where we talked for a few minutes, and I read the card to her.
This friend had a stroke a few years ago, which is what landed her here. A gentle soul with a kind smile, depression has been her worst enemy. But she is a survivor. She lost her son to leukemia when he was only about 7 or 8, after running away from an abusive marriage. Eventually she remarried, but several years in, her husband took his life. Besides her husband, suicide has claimed the lives of several of her close family members, so it's no wonder she's had her own struggles.
Because of the darkness she's endured, I love seeing her light up when I come in. Just a little bit of love and listening, a little bit of light seems to go a long way for her. She comes from a Christian background, so she has no problem sharing prayer requests and letting me pray with her. She also asks about my life and shares her wisdom or just her interest in my various trips or life events. She has often asked me how old I am, and when I tell her, she says I look much younger than that. Of course, I'm always ready to hear that!
After a short visit, I drove about 15 minutes to see my "church mom." She is from Eritrea and lives with her daughter and son-in-law. Even though we come from different backgrounds, and the language barrier can slow things down a little bit, there is so much common ground in Jesus that brings us together. Since I recently switched churches, I don't get to see her and sit with her regularly, so I try to make a trip down once a month or so to visit. We talk about family, Ethiopian politics, and mostly about spiritual things. I have learned to admire her faith so much, especially as I continue to learn more of her story. She lived most of her life without her parents, but eventually took care of them at the end of their lives. In her youth, she ended up at an Adventist school in Ethiopia, which began her life-changing journey in Jesus. Although she has been harassed and threatened by family and neighbors for her beliefs, she has faithfully shared Jesus over traditional coffee with anyone who comes to visit her house back in her country.
On Friday, I planned to make my visit short, just to drop off a Christmas card, since she was just getting over sickness, and I was just coming down with it. But when she invited me in, I couldn't resist. As she served me some strong ginger tea with some toast with peanut butter and honey, and later some home-roasted coffee (with lots of milk and honey), we talked. As usual, the conversation flowed from the weather to family to Ethiopia and Eritrea to walking with Jesus. Whenever we get to spiritual things, she truly lights up, and watching her come alive always refreshes and re-energizes me too. I read Isaiah 40 to her--a passage that has been special to me lately--and we talked a little about that before sharing things on our heart that we wanted to pray for.
Then we prayed. I prayed for her home and the things she'd shared, and then it was her turn. She warned me that she would pray in her own language, which I told her was totally fine. She began in English, but then switched to Amharic and into a whole new tone and cadence that lifted my heart with its depth and passion. I knew she was praying for me and the concerns of my heart from the deepest, most beautiful place in her heart. When she finished, there were tears in her eyes as she added words of encouragement that strengthen my faith every time I've been tempted to worry about it since then.
The after-glow from that visit continued in my heart as I made my last few stops at a couple of stores and the Post Office. The coffee probably contributed to that glow, but I'm pretty sure Jesus gets most of the credit. By the time I settled into my apartment for the weekend, preparing myself for the full-scale attack on my immune system, I knew I had no reason to complain and every reason to thank God for my life. He always provides just what and who I need in every season, and continues changing my heart to be like His along the way.
Since this is a free-write, I don't think my conclusion has to be perfect here. I feel like I need to add a little disclaimer in case anyone actually reads this. This story sounds like it's about me, but I would rather you see Jesus in it. Without Him, I would be in the same pit of darkness and depression that my friend in assisted living struggles with. I still see that pit sometimes. I get a little too close, and feel it pulling me. But by Jesus' power and His Word, He keeps rescuing me. A part of that rescue is His pushing me out to find others who need connection and hope, and in doing that, I find joy and purpose.
I've had the last few days all to myself in my cozy little apartment with the constant rain pattering outside. Perfect for all those things I was going to read and do. And what have I actually done? Basically nothing. Unless you count the endless chores of refilling my water bottle, brewing cold-fighting concoctions, trips to the bathroom, cooking decent food, cleaning it all up, and writing about two Christmas cards. Oh, I've been busy, but not much to show for it--not even my health.
But I decided to take a few minutes break to do a little free-writing here. Never fear, my toilet paper roll is nearby (ran out of tissues a few hours ago), so I'm ready to go. I have decided to tell the story of my Friday.
Friday morning I woke up and debated what to do with my day. I knew I was on the edge of sickness, but felt like I had one more day out in the world before I must enter quarantine and misery. So I compromised. I would make a few short visits, stop by two stores, and then settle in for the weekend.
My first visit was a lady who lives in an assisted living facility. I've visited her for the last few years, although it's only about once a month since I moved farther away. When I found her room, it was empty, so I left the Christmas card and headed out, a little disappointed. Half-way back to the entrance, I saw her in her wheelchair, and pushed her back to her room where we talked for a few minutes, and I read the card to her.
This friend had a stroke a few years ago, which is what landed her here. A gentle soul with a kind smile, depression has been her worst enemy. But she is a survivor. She lost her son to leukemia when he was only about 7 or 8, after running away from an abusive marriage. Eventually she remarried, but several years in, her husband took his life. Besides her husband, suicide has claimed the lives of several of her close family members, so it's no wonder she's had her own struggles.
Because of the darkness she's endured, I love seeing her light up when I come in. Just a little bit of love and listening, a little bit of light seems to go a long way for her. She comes from a Christian background, so she has no problem sharing prayer requests and letting me pray with her. She also asks about my life and shares her wisdom or just her interest in my various trips or life events. She has often asked me how old I am, and when I tell her, she says I look much younger than that. Of course, I'm always ready to hear that!
After a short visit, I drove about 15 minutes to see my "church mom." She is from Eritrea and lives with her daughter and son-in-law. Even though we come from different backgrounds, and the language barrier can slow things down a little bit, there is so much common ground in Jesus that brings us together. Since I recently switched churches, I don't get to see her and sit with her regularly, so I try to make a trip down once a month or so to visit. We talk about family, Ethiopian politics, and mostly about spiritual things. I have learned to admire her faith so much, especially as I continue to learn more of her story. She lived most of her life without her parents, but eventually took care of them at the end of their lives. In her youth, she ended up at an Adventist school in Ethiopia, which began her life-changing journey in Jesus. Although she has been harassed and threatened by family and neighbors for her beliefs, she has faithfully shared Jesus over traditional coffee with anyone who comes to visit her house back in her country.
On Friday, I planned to make my visit short, just to drop off a Christmas card, since she was just getting over sickness, and I was just coming down with it. But when she invited me in, I couldn't resist. As she served me some strong ginger tea with some toast with peanut butter and honey, and later some home-roasted coffee (with lots of milk and honey), we talked. As usual, the conversation flowed from the weather to family to Ethiopia and Eritrea to walking with Jesus. Whenever we get to spiritual things, she truly lights up, and watching her come alive always refreshes and re-energizes me too. I read Isaiah 40 to her--a passage that has been special to me lately--and we talked a little about that before sharing things on our heart that we wanted to pray for.
Then we prayed. I prayed for her home and the things she'd shared, and then it was her turn. She warned me that she would pray in her own language, which I told her was totally fine. She began in English, but then switched to Amharic and into a whole new tone and cadence that lifted my heart with its depth and passion. I knew she was praying for me and the concerns of my heart from the deepest, most beautiful place in her heart. When she finished, there were tears in her eyes as she added words of encouragement that strengthen my faith every time I've been tempted to worry about it since then.
The after-glow from that visit continued in my heart as I made my last few stops at a couple of stores and the Post Office. The coffee probably contributed to that glow, but I'm pretty sure Jesus gets most of the credit. By the time I settled into my apartment for the weekend, preparing myself for the full-scale attack on my immune system, I knew I had no reason to complain and every reason to thank God for my life. He always provides just what and who I need in every season, and continues changing my heart to be like His along the way.
Since this is a free-write, I don't think my conclusion has to be perfect here. I feel like I need to add a little disclaimer in case anyone actually reads this. This story sounds like it's about me, but I would rather you see Jesus in it. Without Him, I would be in the same pit of darkness and depression that my friend in assisted living struggles with. I still see that pit sometimes. I get a little too close, and feel it pulling me. But by Jesus' power and His Word, He keeps rescuing me. A part of that rescue is His pushing me out to find others who need connection and hope, and in doing that, I find joy and purpose.
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