The sounds of choking and gasping send us barreling up the stairs into his room. I deadlift his heavy body from the crib, limp from sleep yet racked with coughs. I listen for spasmodic inhales and brace myself for gags and vomits. But once he’s in my arms his breathing becomes less labored and he hangs his head over my shoulder. My husband grabs the vapor rub and we gentle massage the little one’s chest before laying him back down. He goes without complaint.
“It’s Ok, Mommy and Daddy are here. You can go to sleep.”
My husband has been sick for more than week, and the coughing never seems to stop. Now it seems our little boy has picked up the chorus. As we get ready for bed, I wonder if it will be another restless night for us both. It’s the time of year when sickness becomes yet another stressor. Special family activities and other holiday plans loom, both exciting and stressful. I’m hoping this last round of illness will be the last until January.
I so desperately want to be at peace. To rest and enjoy this beautiful time of year. To let the spirit of gratitude carry me from Thanksgiving all the way to the beginning of a new year. That Christmas would be a time of togetherness, to remember that Jesus was sent so we could be in relationships with God again, as we were in the garden. A time of peace, rest, reunion.
But already the tendrils of busyness and anxiety are creeping in. Do we have enough money saved for holiday travel? How will the kids behave? As my mind swirls with these thoughts I can feel another voice speaking.
“I’m still here.”
Even in all that is going on, he’s still there. I can lay my cares on him. The one who chose humanity, both to love and to join. Casting aside the luxuries of heaven in exchange for the frail and decaying trappings of this world. Because we were worth saving. I am worth his time, even in my worries and silly concerns. For both the daily things and the life changing, he is there.
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