Christmas night, I fell ill. We were at the apex of all the festivities...our children, grandchildren, my Mama and Ken's Daddy and sister's family were here...there was a groaning table of breakfast food and beverages, lots of joy and happiness. The tree was jammed with presents...it looked like a Santa dump truck had just unloaded there. We held off opening presents until the food was eaten (I mean, cheese grits can't wait). Delicious, fruity mimoses were passed around to the adults, chocolate milk to the kids. We were all ready when it came time to open gifts. This is our tradition: presents are passed out, but opening starts with the youngest and ends up with the eldest. That way, the Mamas can corral their children's gifts and we all get to see and enjoy everyone's prizes. In this family, that gives room for plenty of ribbing and laughter. I opened my gift and it was a lovely, framed picture of our grandchildren, plus a wooden box that had this burned into the top: "You are loved." Inside were personal notes from my folk, even down to the littlest grands. As I read them, the tears poured. It was the best gift imaginable. But my tears started sticking...the nose clogged, breathing became more labored, the joints began aching. It was if my tears spawned an illness. Thankfully, there was lots of help cleaning up -- I didn't even move from my comfy chair. Everyone parted to their own homes, but by midnight, I was one sick puppy. Throat sore, sinuses clogged and aching, I went into my cocoon and stayed there for two days. Ken is the best of nurses, so I had all my needs met, even the ones I didn't want.
I am overdramatic about pretty much everything, but in the times that I have been very sick, I come to a cresting point when I think, "Maybe this is going to kill me." And I always wonder what it would feel like to just be normal again. Will that ever happen? Then I start promising God I'll do this-and-that differently if I get to live another day. I know He redeemed me with all my sins and warts, but I also know that I could do better. At 5:00 am this morning, I was hurting so bad I thought I might as well go stand in the cold and let the dog out. Then I could let myself die, because who knows when Ken might remember to walk the dog. I peeled myself off the bed, let her out (no shoes, only a nightgown on, heck, it was 30 degrees out, a heat wave compared to the last three days). She took her time sprinkling on three hibernating flowerbeds, did some serious business at the edge of the lawn, then decided to have herself a walkabout. Of course she would do that when I'm not dressed and it's freezing outside, though that dog is usually attached to me like velcro. She even glanced around at me as she casually trotted across the neighbor's yard, as if to say, "Haha! You can't catch me now." Though the whole neighborhood seemed to be in deep winter lockdown, I can't imagine I didn't wake someone up with my hollering. I was able to retrieve her before my toes got frostbitten; all the while hoping the neighbors didn't wake to see the crazy lady running across their lawn.
Now that I'm emerging from the cocoon, I feel the warm afterglow of Christmas. What blessings, what joy, what goodness I see all about me. There are also troubling things-- relationships that need mending, things to be anxious about, a church friend dying today (he seemed hale and hearty a week and a half ago as he thanked me for some decorating I did. We never know when we will get the call, do we?) There's a time to say yes and a time to say no. I did a lot of "No" in the last few weeks, purposely slowing down from the most hectic fall in recent memory. Sometimes I resent the necessity of food. It doesn't seem to matter how much or how little I eat of it, I'm still fat. So much trouble.
As a Christian, I have at my core the heart that God gave me at salvation, not of my own merit or my own goodness, because heavens to Murgatroyd, I ain't got none of that. Emmanuel, God with us, who created this amazing place and this body that is beautiful, despite my errant ways. Our cracked, fallen world cried out for redemption and He answered. He calls the high, the mighty, the lowly...but I believe He saves the scumbags, because they're the most impossible, after all. Look at the manger, the simple shepherds, the poor mother and father...the King arrives unexpectedly, in humility and common flesh. That's how we find Him, when we strip down to repentance and need. Glory, in the dirt.
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