All night long, a fever rages, and I can’t keep warm no matter what I do. I’m coughing so much that I actually lose my voice. I can’t talk on the phone; I can’t boss my family around; I can’t even go to church and call out my welcomes.
I try to get out of bed while everyone else is at church, but then I flop back down on the pillow. I have no energy. I’m suddenly amazed by how the body takes the energy it needs to get better and forces you to conserve it. You stay in bed. You don’t move.
I can’t stand the lack of productivity. I actually devise a grand plan with my lost voice. I can make a vow of silence and pray all day. How godly! But when I try to get my Bible and journal, I flop back down on the pillow once more. Forget it. I’m too weak.
I’m worried about how in the world my husband got everybody ready for church and who handled all my responsibilities there. And I’m worried about who’s cooking dinner.
My family returns from church, and the girls bound into my room like little gazelles leaping about the bed. Their outfits are adorable, and my husband has actually fixed their hair. The youngest has the smoothest pony-tail , and their faces are clean and bright. I can’t stop looking at that pony-tail. For years my husband has announced, “I don’t do hair. I’ll do everything else, but I can’t do hair.”
But he did it. I look again at that hair and realize how God provides, even down to the pony-tail. And then a friend sends the message that she’s bringing hot soup. I turn over in my blanket and realize my God-given assignment. Stay in bed. Don’t move.
There’s nothing I can do, so, for once, I learn how to let God provide.