Our youngest son Colin has had quite the week. Monday the fever started, by Tuesday the fever was worse and an inspection of the back of his throat confirmed that I had passed on to him the strep throat that I had suffered through the week before. (Epic fail on my part. Kids are supposed to bring the germs home from school and pass them on to Mom, not the other way around. Ugh.) Thankfully, a call to our doctor was enough to get him a prescription for some antibiotics and I was confident by the next day he would be on the mend.
However, Wednesday produced a very unhappy little boy. His throat hurt. His head hurt. His teeth hurt. He had lost interest in all food, including the green Jello I had made for him, because everything tasted "weird". He threw back a couple more doses of Motrin and Tylenol and, after lunch, I was able to convince him to lay down to "rest his eyes".
Three hours later he woke up and his fever had broke. Ah-ha! Progress! I knew by tomorrow he'd be up and ready to attack the world like normal.
But Thursday was not much better. His fever had returned. Not alot, but just enough that I knew he still could not go to school. And by now, he was also very cranky. Thanks to Netflix, he had burned through several seasons of Jimmy Neutron, Pink Panther and Phineas & Ferb in the last three days. And just like someone who binges on all their Easter candy in one sitting, Colin had consumed his fill of cartoons and could not stomach one more. He was bored and restless. His throat was much better but now he had started to cough and his nose to run. We greased him with Vicks, set up the humidifier, prayed and sent him off to bed.
This morning, he woke fever free. But with his nose running faster than a jack rabbit on fire, I agreed to let him stay home one more day. By supper time, this was the end result:
Not one, but two, empty boxes of Kleenex and one very large and very full grocery bag of used tissues.
Poor kid.
Tonight as he cries out of frustration because he can't breathe out of his raw, stuffy nose, I feel so helpless.
I feel so out. of. control.
Why can't I make my kids all better? Why can't I take away the stuffy nose and the fever and even the brain freeze caused by watching way too much TV? Why can't I fix it?
I hate not being in control.
I hate not having everything in its place. I hate not having everything neat and orderly and just where I left it. I hate surprises (unless they involve chocolate and pedicures.)
But that is life. And after 40 years on this earth, I am slowly starting to get used to it.
I am slowly learning to accept that life is messy sometimes. That life is FULL of unknowns. And that it is not my job to fix it - whatever "it" might be.
It is His.
And the sooner I trust Him to do what he promises he will do - the sooner I can learn to breathe.
Breathe deep...and exhale.
For He is my rock.
He is my salvation.
He is my fortress and my deliverer.
He is my provider.
He is my healer.
In Him, I will trust.
Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. (Psalm 62:8)
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)
The LORD is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in him... (Nahum 1:7)
Be blessed...and breathe.
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