We are sick.
Watery eyes, sniffley nose, coughing-through-the-night sick.
Fevers rise and goosebumps prickle and we are all sorts of unwell. It makes us cranky and selfish and keeps us from doing what we should. It keeps us up at night, steals our rest and has put our house in ruin.
It is decidedly NOT fun.
In a fever induced moment of reflection,as I was attempting to calculate the length of this misery, I began to think deeps thoughts. Thoughts like this:
We ARE sick. Always. Though we may feel well in body, we are struck miserable with sin. It makes us cranky and selfish and keeps us from doing what we ought. Entangled in that virus, we cannot rest in the Lord and our life falls to ruin.
We need to be healed, through and through. We cannot take a Dayquil and hope for the best. No, we need nothing short of the miracle of grace, an entire transplant of our fallen self into what he really made us to be.
It sounded profound in my head.
I think I need some more Advil. And hot Tang. And sleep.
