Chicago is overwhelming enough for me. The sights, the sounds, and constant stream of voices and activity between people, technology, and landscape. It’s practically an artwork of it’s own, one that I have grown to love, but at a respectful … Continue reading
I’ve been struggling lately with this concept of Imago Dei. For those of you unfamiliar with the term it’s Latin for “In God’s Image” and is a concept all Christians are taught at usually a pretty young age, mainly because … Continue reading
I don’t know if
God and I
Share a face
But if it does
I’d like to learn
Not to hate it
I wear my insecurities
Like Christmas lights
So they’re easy to see
But only at night
Out of all
The red brick houses
I find myself to be
A grey stone
Laid up on the couch with lungs aching and throat raw I listened as my husband made soft noises in the kitchen, preparing tea. I yawned, which then became a coughing fit, like any deep breath had done for the past 24 hours.
“Lemon Lift” was the name of the tea he kept bringing me, and it seemed to be the only tea that was soothing my cough as well as my throat and peeking me up, but it only seemed to work for an hour or so at a time.
At first my husband had seemed beside himself. The day prior when I woke up sick he was smothering and overly hovering around me. Bringing me my meds, food, and whatever else he thought would be helpful all at once into our room as I had coughing fit after coughing fit. Eventually, I snapped at him to let me get up and move so I could better evaluate myself and just to get him to leave me alone. He had work to get ready for. I had to call the museum and let them know I wouldn’t be volunteering. Then I had to change my insulin in my pump and get at least one load of laundry started.
As my husband left for work he came into the bathroom and kissed my forehead with his usual farewell. “If you were a unicorn that’s where your horn would be. I love you. Feel better.” I shooed him away so he wouldn’t be late for work and so I could get things done to rest more easily, in a harsher tone than I usually would have because of my sick state and painfully tight chest. He left and the house echoed only with my cough and the sound of our cat Henry crying that his daddy left.
Upon returning to the kitchen to take care of getting tea prepared I saw that my mug and a “Lemon Lift” tea bag was already waiting for me. Next to it was a sticky note.
I nearly cried and died from the coughing fit that happened after that. With tears streaming down my face I realized how cranky and rude I had been to my husband who was only acting out of love and concern. He hadn’t ever seen me sick before and was desperately trying to ease my suffering in all the small ways he knew how. I had only rejected them and dismissed them in my prideful and cranky state. I felt even more terribly.
The rest of the afternoon was not as restful as I had hoped. I pushed through laundry and realized that the floors were dirty along with dusty everything. I dusted (making my cough worse) in hopes that it would help alleviate my sickness. Then I moped the floors to get the salt and mud from our boots and shoes off everything. In doing that I noticed the counters needed a good wipe down and in wiping the counters I did the stove and sink too. Then I realized I should probably have some sort of dinner ready for my husband when he got home, so I could show him how sorry I was for being so rude to him earlier that morning. After starting things in the slow cooker I realized the vacuum was full and emptied out the dust can (again the coughing) and after that decided a long steaming hot shower was required. After that shower I decided feeling pretty would help me feel better and did my makeup, took my social media selfie, and rested for an hour before my husband came home from work.
Today, I woke up feeling worse. My cough was more wet than it had been the day prior, but that just meant more coughing and throat rawness. My husband came into our room with a hot mug of “Lemon Lift” in his hand. I didn’t protest and I let him fluff the pillows behind me before I laid back. He turned on the Himalayan salt lamp and let me lay my head back on the pillow as he played with my hair. After awhile he kissed my forehead.
“If you were a unicorn that’s where your horn would be. I love you.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“I forgive you. Now rest.”
So I did.
I’m not sure anyone else takes selfies when their sick, but I do. Mainly because I like faking health and wellness on social media. Here is the result:
I’m not sure why I started taking on this philosophy, but somehow I got it in my head that I needed to look healthy in hopes of it encouraging me either into feeling healthy or actually choosing to make healthy decisions.
So today I put on my comfy spaghetti strap tank top, threw my cotton blazer over to of it and put on my most colorful necklace I bought for $5 from a friend who sells paparazzi jewelry (yes, this is a supportive and shameless plug link, because the jewelry is amazing, inexpensive, and I love my friends that much). Put on a light layer of foundation, eyeliner, and mascara, and a little lipstick…you know. To make my lips feel pretty even when I’m coughing my lungs out.
While I know looking pretty doesn’t make the flu go away, it certainly helps to boost my confidence. I feel like less of a lump of sick and more like a human again. I feel like I’m clean instead of sweaty and feverish, and if I don’t look sick, it helps me to feel less sick psychologically. Of course I’m not going out anywhere, and all I’ve managed to do is dress up nice to push through laundry, throw dinner in the slow cooker, and nap in a little while with my kitties. Still, somehow knowing I look nice and seeing glances of those bright colors makes me happy, which I think helps considerably in the healing process (along with the green tea, Himalayan salt lamp, cough syrup, and fever reducer).
I’ve probably said this before, and it certainly won’t be the last time I ever say it, but being a creative as a living can really drain a person. Not that it’s more draining than other jobs, but it’s more … Continue reading
I fail so much when it comes to my faith, and I continually find myself grateful that I have a God who redeems such failings, and yet in me is a pride that I struggle to let go: the pride of not forgiving myself.
I am so prone to this, and even in my actions of prayerfully confessing all of my sins to the God I claim to love know forgives if only I ask, I struggle so profoundly and deeply with this issue. I have assurance, and yet, I fail to see it. I have security and yet I choose not to feel it or experience it. It’s a foolish sin, I know. A foolish thing to claim freedom in faith, and in the same breath struggle to claim it at all. Yet, it’s so human.
So I ask for prayer for this, from whoever is willing to take a moment and do so on my behalf. Thank you.
What are my emotions worth if all they are,
is the result of my imperfect perception
possibly misinterpreting what I have heard?
We are clearly emotional beings,
because everyone has feelings.
Yet, I find myself grappling with this question,
because I find that so much in my life depends
on my emotions.
How can it be though?
When nearly all my emotions are through a lens of
imperfection, misinterpretation, and misinformation,
how is it that emotions
end up being the deciding factor for most things?
What good are they when they are more likely to be
misdirected, misunderstood, and misguided?