Sick of Being Sick

I was extremely healthy all summer. I might have endured one or two days where I didn't feel the best, but generally I was the strongest and most robust I have been in my whole life. The 30s are better in lots of ways than the preceding decades. Especially childhood. I did not enjoy childhood very much, not because I had bad parents, but because my childhood self knew that I was destined for adulthood. I was poorly wired for childhood.

For the past many days, indeed, I think since inservice began, I have been sick with one thing or another. Fall allergies, fevers, headaches, aching spine (thought I had bone cancer yesterday), weakness, collapsing into my ugly green chair when I get home, unable to stir for at least a half hour. Illness frustrates me. I would do, give my best, but I cannot. The attempt to do, which I frequently try, sometimes makes me more unable than ever, and I collapse in a pile, breathing heavily with heart throbbing and lungs heaving.

But I think the saddest part of illness (especially as I age) is the loss of joy or zest for living. I find that as a sick person I don't care at all except from the perspective that if I don't keep pushing as hard as I possibly can, all my responsibilities will pile up on themselves and ferment, leaving an aura of rotting muck to sort out after the illness ends.

My wife is a very talented lady, especially when comes the practical and managerial. I respect her a great deal. I rely on her ability to keep it running when I am not well. And I entrust myself to the goodness of my faithful Creator, who will surely fix me if He wants to.

May the joy of the Lord be your strength today.