I know him. I know the feel of his forehead against the back of my hand ... the temperature that says "he's fine" and then the hot to the touch that says "he's sick." Something's not right. The purple color under his brown eyes tells me ... he's tired ... exhausted.
Sunday started the same as most, me up first and ready for church ... then the boys tumbled out of bed and into nicer clothes than school days. Their hair all rumpled from late Saturday night video games ... I left it ... a little lazy myself from a later than usual bedtime. Jerry and I had gone to see "Letters to Juliet" and gotten home late. Somewhere in the midst of our Sunday morning rush, I know James mumbled his head hurt. I ignored it, thought it was just a ploy to ride along with his Daddy for work. I ushered him to church and then ... the teacher came to get me during Sunday School hour. And, I knew.
I had been wrong. It wasn't a ploy. No made up illness in an effort to get something he wanted. We drove straight home and I took his temperature ... 102. James curled up on the couch ... and ... didn't move. He stayed there all afternoon and into the evening. Each time I checked, he was worse and then there were tears.
"I hate being sick, Mommy. I hate bein' sick like this." His voice was getting scratchy.
"I know baby, but you'll feel better soon." Again ... I was wrong again.
James wasn't better soon. In fact, he's still sick today. Tuesday, the doctor said he would be fine. But, I was worried. I got up in the night to check his skin ... hot, cold or lukewarm. I stood at his doorway and listened ... was his breathing steady or labored. I checked the thermostat, made sure it wasn't too cold. Jerry and I forced liquids and stood over him to be sure he drank enough. We administered the antibiotics and waited ... waited for his strength and spirit to boost.
And, I wondered ... how much we were like Christ. He watches for the symptoms and signs that tell Him we're ill ... our spirits are falling away, drifting in exhaustion. He stays with us and waits. He administers the peace, mercy and rest we need to gain our strength.
And ... if I love my son enough to get up in the middle of night, stand exhausted at his doorway ... how much more will Christ do for me? For each of us?
Matthew 7:11 "If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!
"
Sunday started the same as most, me up first and ready for church ... then the boys tumbled out of bed and into nicer clothes than school days. Their hair all rumpled from late Saturday night video games ... I left it ... a little lazy myself from a later than usual bedtime. Jerry and I had gone to see "Letters to Juliet" and gotten home late. Somewhere in the midst of our Sunday morning rush, I know James mumbled his head hurt. I ignored it, thought it was just a ploy to ride along with his Daddy for work. I ushered him to church and then ... the teacher came to get me during Sunday School hour. And, I knew.
I had been wrong. It wasn't a ploy. No made up illness in an effort to get something he wanted. We drove straight home and I took his temperature ... 102. James curled up on the couch ... and ... didn't move. He stayed there all afternoon and into the evening. Each time I checked, he was worse and then there were tears.
"I hate being sick, Mommy. I hate bein' sick like this." His voice was getting scratchy.
"I know baby, but you'll feel better soon." Again ... I was wrong again.
James wasn't better soon. In fact, he's still sick today. Tuesday, the doctor said he would be fine. But, I was worried. I got up in the night to check his skin ... hot, cold or lukewarm. I stood at his doorway and listened ... was his breathing steady or labored. I checked the thermostat, made sure it wasn't too cold. Jerry and I forced liquids and stood over him to be sure he drank enough. We administered the antibiotics and waited ... waited for his strength and spirit to boost.
And, I wondered ... how much we were like Christ. He watches for the symptoms and signs that tell Him we're ill ... our spirits are falling away, drifting in exhaustion. He stays with us and waits. He administers the peace, mercy and rest we need to gain our strength.
And ... if I love my son enough to get up in the middle of night, stand exhausted at his doorway ... how much more will Christ do for me? For each of us?
Matthew 7:11 "If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!
"
