One thing about being sick is that it makes you stop. It's kind of a heady feeling to be freed from all obligations so that you can recover. It's like getting a day off from the world. With lots of salt water, medicine and tissues involved, of course.
The past few days that I've had pharyngitis have been surprisingly restful. I've slept a lot - when do I ever pass up a chance to do that? - as well as simply reflected a lot. My reflections have brought me many times into the long, vaulted hallways of spiritual meditation, which has been extremely good for me.
It can be hard for me to come face to face with God, particularly when I don't feel that I have anything to say to him. Things aren't unbelievably wonderful right now, nor are they painfully and dark. I'm not doing anything particularly special, nor have I learned anything lately that's turned my life upside-down. I'm just here, being me. What does God have to do with me being me? Me being me is frighteningly small and boring.
However, as I've started a second read-through of Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest and read in Psalms and Mark, God has simply reminded me how little I know of him, yet how much he loves me in my ignorance and wants to simply spend time with me. God's love is the biggest, most encompassing force I can imagine, yet I've managed (so I thought) to squeeze it into a neat little box in the corner of my mind labeled "For Further Intellectual Enquiry at a Later Date." It's no wonder I go around with a vague feeling of self-imposed loneliness.
So, yeah. I have this annoying habit of pushing love away when I see it being poured recklessly upon me. Now open the floodgates, Lord, and let me taste the joyful, heart-ful abandon of a life filled by you!