The plague is upon our house. We are 80% contamination.
I was the first to usher the plague in, and therefore I was the first to recover.
I am playing nurse a house full of various degrees of sick.
One on the more severe end, involving spoonfuls of crushed ice every five minutes.
My house is in chaos, and I am inexplicably at peace.
I would like to think it goes without saying that I despise seeing my little ones or my husband sick. Y’all know that. But still…peace. Like I haven’t had in months.
And the only thing I can really figure is that my heart hears God whispering that this is where He has been trying to lead me back to. Back to my core, my heart. My nuclear people.
It seems I’ve been untethered for a bit, knocked loose by hard things. I’ve been floating about, bumping into any number of objects…as clumsy plus untethered will do. The bumps hurt; the bruises have gone deep and I’ve been distracted by the pain and by the anticipation of the next bump.
How is it that I do not immediately return to my anchor? How does that happen? Why did it take spoonfuls of ice, such a simple little need, to wake me up? I’m not sure, but it did. It woke me right up. Thank you, God.
If I’m being honest, I feel like this is a blog I’ve written too many times. Looking at Scripture, I see I’m not alone. Why do our hearts never seem to want to stay where they belong? Why am I so easily pulled away by things that I know, I know matter infinitely less? How, oh how do I forget that my home is a mission field all its own when I am thinking on His glory?
I don’t have the answer, but I’m writing this down.
One more time. In hopes that one day I don’t forget to remember.