I'm no mathematician, but when five times three have recovered from fever, sleepless nights, uncontrollable coughing spasms, trash cans overflowing with crumpled tissues--I'd say the total adds up to a noteworthy event....
so noteworthy, in fact, that it seems like we should celebrate.
But how can you celebrate the end of an illness dismissed by even doctors as "just a virus" or "the good kind of pneumonia?
It's actually not that hard. Watch the children. They intrinsically know the symptoms of a heart that needs to give thanks for good health restored.
When smiling, singing, laughing seems to be the only thing worth doing.
When being among people--any people--seems like Christmas.
When just the feel of warm sun on your face or the coming March winds tussle your hair makes you pause for more than just a minute
When the simplicity and beauty of the Father's creation slows your heartbeat with a calming sigh.
Watching my children these past few days, I've seen a celebration in progress.
Contented giggles resound in the sand pile where sibling spats usually abide. Even this mama doesn't fuss about the grit on the floor but, instead, just leaves the vacuum propped up in the hall and smiles as she repeatedly brushes everyone off.
A row of band aids cover boo boos from romps through a thorn-laden path...injuries not enough to dim the celebration outdoors for even a few minutes.
I hate being sick. I hate my family being sick. But there's one thing about it--after the illness has passed, life seems so much purer, so much better than before.
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