Small and Silent

Since college, I've had sinus infections by the dozens. Although I've prayed for ten years for deliverance, I still live in a world of weekly allergy shots, fleeing indoors each time the lawnmower sends grass dust swirling in the air, knowing the seasonal mist of yellow rain from the trees and flowers could be my demise.

But I've never felt before as if I might not be able to breathe my next breath.

So, Monday evening, with my cold rapidly turning into something worse, I sought help at the after-hours clinic...and sat for three hours to get a cortisone shot and receive reassurance that it wasn't the swine flu.

Breathe. Wait. Listen to the loud, very obnoxious woman talk non-stop for two hours--to the woman sitting beyond the wall in another section, to whomever is on the other end of her ever-ringing cell phone, and (when there is finally silence) to whomever she's texting.

Never a word to her son sitting beside her.

My eyes widen as she flippantly speaks of blowing off her kid's sick complaints that morning because she didn't want to miss work....only to realize when she walked through the door that evening he was really sick. Her actions teach that to be heard, one must be loud and never stop talking.

Breathe again. Watch another minute of some muted animated superhero show on Cartoon Network. The message is clear--to be powerful, you must be strong and violent.

Breathe.

I know this is not real power. But it's what I see. It's what my children will see if I don't show them power is not found in volume. Not in incessant talking. Not in big or violent.

God's ways confound the wisdom of the wise.

This cold virus that crept uninvited into my body was not loud or big. But it has been powerful. An unseen stranger in my home, attacking the twins, me, and today, my husband. Silently, without force, it has moved from person to person, sapping us of our energy, slowing our daily routine to a grinding halt, and depleting every box of Kleenex in the house. Even my goldfish are sick this week with a mysterious, totally unrelated cotton fungus!

And tonight as I sit quietly before my God, praying for his healing to wrap snugly around all who live under my roof, I don't have the words.

I'm more than tired. My body aches. The huge pot of chicken soup I thought I'd end up freezing probably isn't going to even last the week. And each little cough I hear reaches all the way down the hall to wrap its fingers around this mommy's heart.

But I am comforted, knowing I can just sit and let His Spirit read my concerned heart and pour out my unspoken words to Him.

No need for superpowers on my own. No need for violence to force God to listen. No loud, incessant talking necessary to tap into that type of holy, majestic power.

Thank you Jesus.