So, it’s been quite a week.
My body hurts, I’m not sleeping well, I’m emotional, I’m cranky, etc. etc. etc.
Dan has been working a lot of nights as of late because it’s Sacrament Season and though I love — and he loves — the work he gets to do, I miss him.
And then just this week my little ones fell one by one as the virus from hell came sweeping off the plains (or marsh, as it may be here in Charleston) and into our house. Even Zelie, my two-year-old girl who has the immune system of something that has a strong immune system (bear with me, did I mention that I’m 38-almost-39-weeks-pregnant?), is currently sleeping on my bed with round apple-y flushed cheeks and a feverish forehead.
Oh, and because I just need to tell someone (thank you for your sacrifice), this is the same two-year-old who sat on my lap this morning and promptly burst into tears as she wailed, “I just went potty on your poor little leg!” Why yes, you did, cutie pie. Sadly, said unfortunate incident led to my throwing up all over the carpet because I was just at that point. So, that was lovely.
But now she sleeps, the others are wrapped in blankets downstairs paying homage to Netflix, and I am here at my computer sipping my second cup of coffee (seeing as my first one never made it into the bloodstream) feeling strangely at peace and overwhelmed with gratitude.
A wee little bit out of character, you should know.
Normally I’d be throwing the pity party to end all pity parties but then along came…
Therese, who never asks for anything in return as she gives and gives and gives some more. Just last week she piled all five of my little ones into her car and took them to her house for six hours while I rested and nested. She’s a living saint. I’m sure of it.
Valerie, Hannah, and Chris, who showed up at my doorstep with casseroles, vegetables, sweet breakfast breads, fruit, and treats (which were clearly labeled with “For Hallie. Don’t even think about it Dan! Ha.).
Jen H, my sweet-as-pie pregnancy buddy who never fails to encourage.
Grace, who read my comment about coveting her Mustela products and sent me my very own collection! Okay, technically they’re for Charlie but seeing as how he couldn’t be bothered to be here when the package arrived, I claim them as my very own.
Jen, who is always, always there to commiserate, lend support, and make me laugh.
My heroic husband, Dan, who is all love and endless service.
And all of you who have left comments and sent texts and emails promising prayers. (I wish I were in a place where I could reply to all of your kindness but please know that I read it all and it truly lifts me up. You have no idea.)
…and thanks to them — to you — I feel almost giddy. In spite of the unfortunate circumstances. In spite of myself.
Just this morning my feverish baby girl asked me, “What daily bread? What father-daily-bread-amen mean?” I’d just begun to tell her about asking God to provide for our needs (in my best two-year-old speak) when she jumped up with eyes sparkling and exclaimed: “Oh! Daily bread mean go to the park!”
Sickness and suffering forgotten (at least for the moment).
Without Zelie’s reminder I might have found it surprising the degree to which all of the kindness I’ve been shown recently has made this trying season not only bearable but filled with such sweet anticipation and joy. What gentle power these little graces and gifts have to lift us out of ourselves and remind us of the bigger and more beautiful picture. One day we will go to the park and one day a darling baby boy will arrive and oh, how loved we all are!
We must become like little children, indeed.
Thank you seems such an inadequate expression right now but it’s all I’ve got. So, thank you, friends. You all are the cat’s pajamas. You really are.
So much love!
P.S. Since next week is Holy Week, I think I’ll skip Five Favorites. We’ll return to our regularly scheduled swooning on the 3rd (my birthday!!!).