Lent started out strong. Well, as strong as Lent can start.
Shrove Tuesday brought pancakes and sausages – a real treat. I didn’t have the time, but I took the time to make myself homemade pancakes – the kind my niece and my nephew like me to make for them. I added the sausages for John; he would have been pleased; he loved pancake day with sausages. I sat and enjoyed them, even though my to-do list was still full of unchecked items. I even dug out my Lent devotional, the one I wrote but have never really sat with since.
Ash Wednesday, bright and early, I sat in these words that I wrote quite a few years ago. I am always amazed at how God speaks to me in so many different ways and at so many different times, through the words He gives me. (What I write is most always for me first, then for others.)
I had big plans for Lent this year. Committed quiet time and a deepened relationship and peace. That peace that passes all understanding – the peace that comes when you know the One who is in control.
In the middle of the night Wednesday, I wake with a start and a full-fledged respiratory flu. How is it even possible I didn’t see this coming – that I am 100% sick by the time I notice it or feel it?
As I think about it, I remember the sniffles, scratchy throat, and occasional cough I have been outrunning for days. Oops.
Long story short, I have been 100% down ever since. In bed, on the couch, in the recliner. Soup for breakfast, lunch and supper (or at least when I feel up to eating). All day pj’s. Peaked [pee-kid] – a word I grew up with – meaning pale and unwell (not only do I look peaked, I feel peaked, which is a whole other level). Nasty cough syrups and a variety of “flu” medications, none of which seem to be working well. 2 trips to Emergency – neither really helpful, and maybe even a bit traumatic. No work. Only Nico the kitty and I, reclining and dozing.
Nico is living his best life at the moment; more snuggles than he knows what to do with. I watch him, curled up in a ball, or stretched out, paws over his little face, pushed as close as he can get to me, warm and fuzzy, content and at peace.
Me, I mutter frequently, “This flu is a menace,” as my to-do list beckons me from across the room, and my chances of ‘catching up’ anytime soon become unlikely. The more I rest, the more tired I realize I am. The more I rest, the more my body settles like a heavy weight, less and less able to ‘push through’ and ‘make it happen’. Instead, I take another week off work, make a cup of herbal tea and lie back in the recliner with Nico.
I don’t read; I don’t watch t.v. I play the same music over and over again, so I don’t have to think about it. I watch the snow fall outside. I move my chair so I can enjoy the afternoon sun coming through the front window. I eat simple food, toast, soup, eggs and don’t weary of them. I keep a pen and some looseleaf nearby, scribble a few notes here and there, what I hear, what I don’t hear, what I am learning, and some prayers; nothing formal or profound, but meaningful in its own way.
I asked for quiet time
You showed me how tired my body was
I asked you to deepen our relationship
You showed me how fast I have been running
I sought Your peace
You reminded me that peace is not to be chased
It is that which settles on and within
when one becomes still.
When my body was weak
You said, “My grace is sufficient for you.”
When I wondered about the surge of grief
You whispered, “It is early days, take the time you need.”
When I fretted about the to-do list,
You reminded me, “Those are your expectations, not mine.”
When I moved my chair so I could sit in the sunbeam,
He smiled, “Now you are getting it.”
I am reminded that Lent is not about setting goals, accomplishing something, or checking off tasks on a list. Lent is about going where the Spirit leads you, into the wilderness to be tempted, or submitting to the ‘peakedness’ (not sure if that is actually a word) that comes with an unexpected and unwanted respiratory flu.
I am sure there are more lessons to come. For now, Nico and I are headed back to the recliner; maybe we can find a sunbeam to rest in.
