Fullness, part 3

It will be ok, but this is hard. Yesterday afternoon, we rushed Luke to an urgent care with a fever of 104. The cause? Strep and pneumonia. I wish I could say I never saw it coming, but I did. At any sign of illness in our boy, dread rushes in and I begin to expect the worst. After my last blog, I realized it may have appeared like I was overreacting to a common cold. But last December, we rushed him to the emergency room (after a case of strep) because his entire body was swelling to the point that he was unrecognizable. The most frightening part of this experience for me was the fact that no one--no one--knew what was wrong with him for nearly 24 hours. While doctors were sure it was a reaction to an antibiotic, everyone had read about this type of reaction, but no one had ever seen it in person. After that experience, even a runny nose makes my heart beat faster.

Right now, I'm just tired. But if someone could see my soul and paint what they see there, I'd appear passive, with my hands down, resolved just to follow through. This, of course, is outside of normal for me. I only read one article about pneumonia today and I haven't imagined a hundred worst-case scenarios. I just don't have the energy. Instead, I've been thinking about a reading from Genesis from yesterday (does that break the rules?).

Abram and Sarai left for Egypt to escape a famine in their own land. Abram, nervous over the Egyptians' possible reaction to Sarai's beauty, persuaded her to call herself his sister instead. The result wasn't good--the Pharaoh was attracted to her, did take her into his house (which I can only assume meant sexually), and was struck with disease afterward. Abram was forced to confess and leave. But this is what gets me: Abram thought he might be killed if someone desired Sarai and knew she was married. But no one killed him after they found out he wasn't her brother. (Not to mention the fact that their diseased state was caused by his dishonesty.)

And so, it occurred to me that Abram was really anticipating a bad situation without being assured of its likelihood. I'm not an ancient history or Bible scholar, so perhaps I'm missing something, but this story reminds me of all those occasions where I imagine a terrible outcome, practice a script in response to that situation, predict a myriad of consequences--all based on what I suppose could happen. Quite simply, I don't want to do that anymore.


Jan. 23: Psalm 30, 32/42, 43 [morning/evening]
Genesis 12:9-13:1
Hebrews 7:18-28
John 4:27-42

Jan. 24: Psalm 63, 98/103 [morning/evening]
Genesis 13:2-18
Galations 2:1-10
Mark 7:31-37

Beginnings

Psalm 1, 2, 3/5, 7 [morning/evening]
Genesis 2
John 1:1-18
Hebrews 1:1-14

I have to admit some disappointment this morning when I realized the coming weeks of Epiphany readings are sending me back to the beginning. In an effort to read the Bible through from beginning to end, I've read Genesis countless times...usually fizzling out somewhere in Leviticus. But each of these readings pointed toward the beginning of God's story in a different way: John highlights Christ's presence "in the beginning" and Hebrews differentiates that presence from angelic beings. And today, as I read Genesis 2, I reflected on the creation of humanity. Rather than simply speaking us into being, God formed us with his own hands, breathed his life into us, created us in his image.

I need to know that. It seems that lately I've been questioning God's story overall. Somehow it was easier to believe in cosmic significance in my early 20's...and now, as I approach [gulp] 33, I wonder if this is it. I've gone from lofty (but never enacted) plans to assist in humanitarian efforts around the world to a more practical day to day existence. But when I read Psalm 1, which contrasts the firmly planted believer with the unbeliever blown about by the wind, I found this written in the margins: "a heavy life." And I want that heaviness--not in a melancholy, self-absorbed sort of way, but in building a life of depth, deep connection, and beautiful weight.

Bread

Psalm 34/33 [morning/evening]
1 Kings 19:1-8
Ephesians 4:1-6
John 6:1-14 [be sure to read this passage too!]

Today, I made focaccia. I love baking bread because the transformation from the gluey mass made entirely of flour, water, salt and yeast, becomes a light, crunchy, olive-oiled creation topped with cheese, olives, and sundried tomatoes. A remarkable transformation. And it was good--the only thing I served for dinner (which I initially felt badly about), but it satisfied us. The textures, flavors, and just the experience of eating something we had all witnessed and participated in the preparation of was more than enough.

And so, when I read 1 Kings, and discovered Elijah fleeing Jezebel's murderous wrath, I understood the beauty of God's care for his prophet: Elijah, sure he can't go any farther (and I assume it's a spiritual AND physical struggle), finds himself fed by God--bread baked on stones. He eats, finishes, and then "the angel of the Lord" [Jesus?] urged him to eat more bread in preparation for the journey ahead. The story reads, "Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb..."

Bread baked on stones. It must have been good. It was certainly longed for by Elijah and it sustained and satisfied him. But that bread was also personal--baked by God himself. "Taste...how good God is..."

From Psalm 34:1-9 (The Message):

1 I bless God every chance I get; my lungs expand with his praise.

2 I live and breathe God;
if things aren't going well, hear this and be happy:

3 Join me in spreading the news;
together let's get the word out.

4 God met me more than halfway,
he freed me from my anxious fears.

5 Look at him; give him your warmest smile.
Never hide your feelings from him.

6 When I was desperate, I called out,
and God got me out of a tight spot.

7 God's angel sets up a circle
of protection around us while we pray.

8 Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—
how good God is.
Blessed are you who run to him.

9 Worship God if you want the best;
worship opens doors to all his goodness.