The Throw Up Tales

Well, Tuesday ended up being a day of cleaning for me.   With an old house like ours, even after vacuuming, mopping, and straightening, it still doesn't always feel that different, but at least I know it's been cleaned.   I particularly enjoyed tidying up the bathroom, and hanging a mirror where the kids could see themselves while brushing their teeth, and even wiping all the way down to the base of the toilet.   I'm so glad that I spent all that time cleaning the bathroom (sense the sarcasm), because all Tuesday, Wednesday, and even today, the whole family has been seeing a closer side of the toilet than we'd like.    

Randy called me Tuesday from work, saying how nauseous he felt, and after hoping that none of us would get Asher's throw up bug, I was less than happy to hear it.    He continued working, at a slower pace, and came home and went straight to bed.   Later on, after I had gotten the kids in bed, River ran out telling me that Asher was throwing up in bed.   "Crap! Again?!"  were my immediate thoughts, seeing as it was the fourth day of this thing that was plaguing his little body.   Later on, it was me who was in and out of sleep, with only pictures of vomit waking me up.   Nice, huh?   I finally got up, and went to the toilet and did what I knew was coming no matter how hard I tried to deny it.    So, needless to say, the last couple days have not been fun. River came in this morning at 5, saying, "Daddy, throw up in my bed."     Poor sweetie.   She's still not feeling well.   

So, instead of being able to be "intentional" and have a fun week on our spring break, basically all we've been is cooped up in this sick house, laying on the couch and waiting for the plague to leave us alone.

With this whole sickness thing, though, I'm always confronted with my own selfishness.   The first thoughts even while helping my own children in their discomfort are often, "Uuggghh, I really don't want to get this."    or, "Don't breath, just don't breath.  And now go antibac your hands, and then go take a scalding shower to kill all the germs..."    Aren't I a terrible mother?!   But you know, with friends, the first thing you think of when you hear how someone else's kid is sick, is, "How long ago were we with them?   Shut!   I hope we don't get it!"    It's always about me, me, me.    It makes me sick.   (no pun intended)     And I see more than ever how much I need Christ.    What if he had thought, "You know, I really don't want to get icky sin all over me."   or, "I don't want to be beaten and tortured for something I didn't do."  or   "I think I'll stay away from all those sick people, because I really don't want to contract anything to keep me from my ministry."

I feel like our reaction to bad news or things that we can't control, is so often, "How will it effect me?  What does this mean for me?  How will I deal with this?    What will I do?"   Usually we aren't so likely to be selfless and think, "Oh, I wonder how I could help them?   or, I wonder how they're dealing with this.    How will they need help?"    If we do think this way, usually it is after all of the self-analysis, and self-induced situations have been thoroughly thought through, and meditated on.

But this morning, Randy and I were talking, and he said that as we were taking care of River this morning (holding her hair back, while she stood over the toilet, giving her a bath, changing her sheets, laying down in bed with her to help her fall back asleep) he thought about all the children that don't have anyone to take care of them while they're sick.   How they have to throw up on the street, and then do what?   No one strokes their hair, and rubs their face off with a cool wash cloth.   Who gives them a bath and tucks them back into bed.   And it is so sad to think of.    It wasn't with any guilt or condemnation as he was thinking of it, just more of a realization and compassion filling his heart for the little ones of this world who aren't as fortunate as our children.   So, in our sickness, even though it's no fun, and definitely not a part of life that I like, I'm thankful for our home, our beds, and our bathtub where we can all rest and recuperate.     And I pray for those on the street, that they would somehow know there is a Father who longs to comfort them.   To be a Father to them.   To love them.