I keep dragging myself out of bed in the morning, low oxygen and all, even if it’s only for 15 minutes. It gives me a chance at a fresh start.
It’s day 13: It’s been 13 days of accepting a cup of coffee from my kind husband and hoping I can stomach it, taking one sip, and sadly putting the mug down, sighing, “Maybe tomorrow.”
It feels so heavy.
Everything does.
Thankfully, everyone else in this house is on the mend. It hit hard, but it didn’t last forever. Technically, our quarantine should be over.
For me, however, it appears that Covid is joining me for New Years Eve. Maybe the first day of 2022 will carry with it higher oxygen levels, relief for my lungs, and ability to sit up at the kitchen table without my whole body revolting.
Until today, Covid felt super temporary. It doesn’t feel temporary at the moment.
Truly, it could be so much worse. This could be day 13 of an ICU stay, isolated from my family. It’s not. This could be day 13 of watching my beloved family suffer. Praise God that it’s just me. Not ”just me” in a self-deprecating way. Just that I have held strong to the conviction that there are worse things than carrying illness in my own body (if you’re a parent, especially a parent of a sick kid, you know what I mean).
It could be so much worse. I’m home. I’m in my own bed. I’m surrounded by family and pets and daily door drops from ceaselessly loving friends. It’s not the worst way to end the year. It’s actually really sweet.
I’m also so exhausted. My lungs are tired. My whole body is tired. This is an intense battle, and it’s not just physical. I know that your prayers are holding me up: spiritually, physically, and emotionally. I’m sorry for my shorter responses to the “how are you feeling today?” texts and messages. I feel guilty for not having more positive responses. It’s still bad. We keep evaluating the home-hospital quandary, but for this day, this hour, this moment, home is still best.
Thank you for your long-suffering love and enduring compassion. Maybe from the outside it doesn’t feel as long-suffering as it feels from the inside. In my optimism, I thought surely by now, I would have turned a corner. I have yet to catch sight of that corner for myself. Thankfully, I’ve watched Elijah’s corner, Lily’s corner, and Jordan’s corner. They give me great joy and hope.
Again, at the risk of being a broken record (if I’m going to be a broken record, I want to be stuck on this point, that’s for sure): On this day: New Years Eve 2021, my God is carrying me out of 2021 in grace and peace into 2022 : Like I’m not even having to walk into 2022 .
The gentle Shepherd, who carries his sick and wayward sheep on His shoulders, has me securely and lovingly squarely perched on his broad and capable back, as I am unable to walk myself into this New Year. In my opinion, there’s no better way to celebrate the advent of 2022 : At the absolute end of my own strength, wholly dependent on the infinite strength of the One who writes each one of our days into existence.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, I will give you rest.”
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.”
The Beautiful Broken 