As a mother of three and family of five, I never can anticipate what each day will hold for me.
The brutal bloody noses, trails of tattered toilet paper unraveled by my toddler, and recently, the stomach flu.
When pandemics strike, I tend to puff up and fill my lungs with the breath of terror.
My shoulders shudder, my knees knock and the gut wrenching begins to take over the rest of my body.
Some may say I’m a little bit of a Hypochondriac. Agreeing with a shrug, I give half of a smirk and dip my head in disappointment.
Without warning, this random ailment suddenly fell upon my 3-year-old. Her bouncing, brown pig tails and mischievous smile were quickly erased as she was consumed by terror.
The dancing stopped. The clacking of her tap shoes silenced and the most terrifying scream belted from her chest.
What was once a ballroom for ballerinas had now been captured for the vile reactions of a virus.
The house started bubbling with confusion. Pots and pans were piled into the dishwasher to protect from rust.
Laundry was lifted basket by basket to be left for the next cleaning.
My heart raced as I felt the panic pierce each person with an unsettling sting, while one of “our men” faced her tormenting problem.
Minutes passed only to find the moments more intense than the last. The patterns of sickness persisted and I saw my baby tremble with each punishing purge.
Like a factory shuts down for the holidays, so did we.
Our newest breaking assignment for the evening was to huddle together around the TV. We scooted closer and waited patiently between the attacks.
Old black and whites became our distraction as we took turns fighting for the cause of our healthy home.
The invasion carried on into the bleakness of the night.
Then the house fell still.
It was as if God had hushed the violence that had plagued us.
There we were left in the midst of what had been the most ferocious evening our family had faced, so far.
Broken, beat down, and oblivious to the world outside, we laid limply, as crisscrossing limbs fidgeted for a shred of comfort.
What had been done to us was finished and the war had ended.
Now, with slithers of hope within, we held on tightly to the eagerness of recovery.
Not all had been lost.
A family that had once been divided by the regular to’s and from’s and do’s and can’ts of time had now drawn closer together.
When the severing winds of life took its course against our family, we pulled in tight, nourished by the safety that no one was going to be left behind.
Sharing the losses and victories our family persevered as a whole, and we became more than just family members.
We became a team.
But now, this is what the LORD says–he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ”Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. —Isaiah 43: 1-2
May the Lord who made you reveal His bountiful peace to you right now. I pray that His love and comfort hold you in the eye of your storms.