More of the Jesus Exchange

My coffee cup held warm chicken broth, when four days into antibiotics my appetite had yet to return. Toast, Gatorade, broth, and frozen yogurt, made up my menu for several days—and Eggs licked the remnants just last night.

A heavy fatigue also kept me home, missing several planned events. While waving my white flag of defeat often precipitates a mini bout of depression, taking care of myself felt good, right, calming even. In between naps, I puttered around, reducing previously ignored piles.

More importantly, the forced sabbatical gave me time to wrestle with how to focus as the school year cranks up. With August only hours away, I’ve longed to know how to best spend my time and energy.

Should I advertise for piano and voice students?

Should I write another book?

Should I blog two times a week or stick with one?

Will my health hold? Should I plan for slower days?

You see, somewhere deep inside me, I’m NOT sick. I’m just like everybody else. Much like an eighty-year-old who feels twenty.

But then I need a nap, my legs slow, or my double vision kicks in and I can’t fully engage in the activities I love most. Or worse, I compare other’s achievements to mine and feel less than—which happens more often than I want to admit, especially when I’m sick.

There are just those days when I wish that publishing my book would've opened more doors by now. Or that my songs made more of an impact. Or that my student load would stabilize. Or especially that my need for doctors would minimize.

But thoughts like those fuel an inner rhythm of angst, when Jesus says, "Come unto me... and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28 NIV).

Which brings me to the beauty of the last few days. 

Instead of caving to the disappointment this time around, the sweet whisper grew stronger, and I let my thoughts take me to the place where acceptance meets divine love. To where my illness fits into an overarching plan for my good and even the good of those around me. To where my limits lead me to right where I need to be. To where what I get done is enough. And to where I trust His timing, His provision, and His goodness right here the land of the living. 

In a culture that runs on caffeine and octane, my snail pace often pales in comparison. If I let it.

And I just don't want to let it anymore. 

I want to live more fully at peace in the confines of all that is me - because "I no longer live, but Christ lives in me" (Galations 2:20 NIV). 

Something crazy happened in the Jesus exchange that we barely tap into. And once again, I just want more. More of the divine. More of Him in me. No matter how fast or slow my feet carry me. 

All photos courtesy of pixabay.com