Wafers Made with Honey

I woke up at 4:30am this morning and debated about whether to set my feet to the floor or roll over. Hubby was already long gone and coffee did sound good. Alright, I submit, get up.

I have to say, it was a lovely experience. It was still dark, the house silent, hot coffee and solitude my company. Now if only my flesh would endeavor to seek this morning treasure daily I suspect my days could be more satisfying and meaningful. Filled with calm and order, lists and smooth completion, scripture and the Spirit.

Instead I often run about my home distracted, chasing my tail, lacking purpose and forgetting to enjoy this calling. I walk by my bible lying on the end table at least a dozen times a day. A wealth of fruit bearing guidance at my finger tips. But there's laundry and dishes and English lessons and dinner and sports and a thousand other things pulling at my attention. I'm continually frustrated, impatient, wishing that at the end of the day I could have something concrete, some tangible evidence to show for my day's effort. Glory seeking.

All the while The Word, which was from the beginning, and was with God and is God sits closed up in the living room neglected. I plan and presume and it sits there. I rush and push and fail and it sits there. I murmur and complain and it sits there. Until finally, with an accumulation of sins I wish were not tangible, I break and cry out with Paul, "What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?" At some point, while I was busy serving my family I stumbled and decided I should be noticed. Somehow while I was serving I made an idol of service. Storing treasure at the wrong temple.

But today I had manna for breakfast. A feast of truth from many generations past. In the quiet dawn I read yet another lesson from that ancient story about those Israelites who never fail to relate to me. I almost felt my soul quicken and stir with nourishment. Oh yes, now I remember. It is not about me. There is no glory to be found in this vessel. This vessel is filled with pride and worse, it leaks. Messy. Fallen. Broken. You would expect this reflection to bring burden but it does not. Rather hope. In my own ambition I am a slave but now I'm lead by irresistible grace. Daily sanctified. I've moved from Egypt to Elim where the water is sweet. And if I can remember that it is "in the morning [I]will see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard [my] grumbling" maybe I'll make progress. If I can bring my weakness to Him early, perhaps it won't take 40 years to journey through this desert. That's sweet. Glorious even.

John 1:1
Romans 7:24
Exodus 16:7

. . .neither height nor depth . . . nor strep

I sat in the chair at the pediatrician's office yesterday, my kids shuffling around me, and fought hard against the urge to weep. I wanted to wail and gnash my teeth and make a scene, but I didn't. I just sat there staring at Dr. G. Just sat there, looking at her in bewilderment and defeat. . . We all, ALL have strep. Again.
How? Why? What am I doing wrong? Has this nasty bacteria organized against my family? My daughter has been to the ER unable to breathe diagnosed with strep, croup and pneumonia. My son followed suit covered with the strep rash. My other son avoided the ER (because I do learn as we go) but ended up in the dr. office with steroid shots and breathing treatments from, you got it. . . strep and croup. My husband visited the ER himself and last night there were more complaints of a headache from the youngest boy again. Paranoid, we visited Dr. G just as soon as possible . . . and . . . we either all STILL have it of have been re-infected. Doesn't matter. I could cry.
I feel the aches and fatigue of it today and so rewarded myself with a complete day on the couch. Surrounded by books I'm studying and surfing the net, I am grieving the health of my people. I'm having a pity party of one alone in the living room. The children have been quarantined to their rooms in an effort to contain the contamination. Tomorrow the disinfecting rampage will resume. There will be no surface untouched by an antibacterial agent and no passing hour unmarked with pleading prayer for the Lord's healing touch.
When this season of strep finally passes, I fear it will be difficult to face the world without at least a faint phobia of germs. Much less without a bubble. But the truth is we are surrounded by dangers at all moments of everyday. Strep in the grand scheme is only a small concern. The truth is our security is in the Lord. The truth is that it is in Christ that we live and move and have our being. So while I disinfect the house with Lysol, I will disinfect my heart with Truth and face the world . . . healthy.

Take that streptococcus!