Right now I'm at home. Listening to an online stream of our midweek church service. 

My husband is there to lead worship. 

My girls are in the next room watching their new movie.

One girl is on the couch. The same place she's been since Friday around two in the afternoon.

Her temperature has varied, but most dominantly hovers between a high 103 and mid 105. (The high end being the most frequent)

We've had a phone chat with the nurse at the pediatrician's office, a late night trip to the ER (fueled much more by parental paranoia than actual need), and a visit to the doctor.

The general consensus is a virus.

Wait it out. It will pass. 

Practically, what this looks like is a little girl on the couch. Moaning, whining, crying and sleeping. Resisting food. Having a breakdown over any noise. Shaking violently with chills one minute and flailing in violent frustration over being too hot the next. Begging for a bath and then crying to get out within two minutes. Lamenting over the desire for something to do, but no real desire to do anything offered. 

This has been the presence in my life for these last six days. Every night I go to bed with a small glimmer of hope that tomorrow will be the end. So far, not yet.

The sickness is trying. Hard to watch and harder to manage. But beyond that there is the borrowing of tomorrow's trouble that plagues me. Who will get it next? Will we all get it? What if we all have it at the same time? What if we each get it a week apart? Can my littlest one survive it? Can I survive it? What will my husband do about work? Will we make it through this?

Of course there's a heavy dose of extreme in all those worries, but enough reality to be very overwhelming. 

I've been getting lots of practice at preaching to myself. She will get better. We will all be healthy again. It's just a temporary sickness. Stop being such a wimp!

I do pretty good at keeping the worries in check until I get tired. Then they become a little harder to ignore. Everything is harder when you're tired. 

As I go to sleep at night I've been reciting to myself the wise words I read in a list of "How to be Content like Jesus" :

Never picture yourself in any circumstances other than where you are. ….
Never dwell on tomorrow. Remember that it is God's, not yours. 
The heaviest part of sorrow often is to look forward to it.
The Lord will provide.

I work through my worries and I pray for the will and strength to trust that every little detail in my life is God-allowed for a purpose. 

Sometimes I do better at that than others.

A good thing for me this week was that trip to the ER. A little dose of perspective.

Sitting in a hospital is never a bright and cheery experience to say the least.

As I sat there on Sunday night, with the assurance of the doctor that our daughter was just sick, my mind wandered to those moms and dads who have no such assurance. The ones who in fact have a doctor telling them the opposite of that.

How do they sleep?

I watch the sickness and suffering and know that it is temporary and will end and my girl will be back to herself much sooner than later. But what about those parents who have no such comfort?

And yet I complain about this temporary affliction.

I keep reminding myself of these thoughts through these long, slow days of fever and waiting.

And I'm drawn every time to say thank you for the gift of a temporary illness.

Thank you for the five thousand and one ways of creating comfort and ease for myself and my child in a time of illness that are at my fingertips. I am abundantly blessed.

So that's one attitude issue resolved. It has to be re-dealt with about a million times, but I know the truth I need to focus on.

Now for the other.

The care of a sick child. One who is far from agreeable or endearing. That would be the other point of this situation where I fall far short.

I was thinking about it today and some convicting words came to mind: "See in it a chance to die."

Words of a long ago missionary, who knew the undeniable truth that God has appointed every detail in our lives for our good.

Elisabeth Elliot says: Everything about which we are tempted to complain may be the very instrument whereby the Potter intends to shape His clay into the image of His Son. 

I am far too often consumed by the habit of self-preservation. And self-service. This is the truth. And it's never more evident than when I am faced with an opportunity to serve and love someone who is being unloveable.

Today as I was beckoned repeatedly by a miserable little voice who did not care what I needed at that moment, I realized how unwilling I am to die to myself. To be a living sacrifice, and to love like Jesus.  I choose selfishness and laziness and just plain avoidance. Because it's more comfortable for me. 

My choice as of now is this: I can resolve to do better.

But I will fail. Let's just be honest; it's inevitable.

But maybe, in the attempt at choosing the death of self and the Love that is bigger than me, I will be changed a little bit. 

Even now, as I sit and write this, I am summoned once again. 

I guess this is my chance to choose right now. 

My words of encouragement for tonight:

Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
Hebrews 4:16