Not a good sick person

I am not a good sick person. One of those gracious people who never mentions how ill they're feeling, and still manages to work miracles. One of those people who will never let anything keep them down, or from doing something on their schedule.

I'd rather stay in bed.

I subscribe to the idea that if you're sick, don't come to the office, so that I don't get sick.

(I'm ignoring that idea today.)

I've been fighting an oncoming cold with massive doses of vitamins and the attempt to get more rest for the last couple of weeks. There've been people at work sick, and one of my roommates has been sick, and I've just generally been surrounded by the sorts of germ-laden people that the long winters here tend to produce. I thought I had this one held well at bay. I was wrong.

I woke up this morning to find that the cold has settled in with a vengeance. I'm achy and have chills. I have a headache. My throat is sore, and my nose is stuffed up. It's hard to draw breath, and my ribcage hurts from the dry, hacking cough that has also settled in.

And all in all, I'm wishing I was in bed.

Just before I finish whining, did I mention that I'm not a good sick person?

More on Friendship from Henri

another thought from Henri Nouwen.

Friendship in the Twilight Zones of Our Heart

There is a twilight zone in our own hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves - our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and drives - large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness.

This is a very good thing. We always will remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility but also to a deep trust in those who love us. It is in the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.

Like a sponge?

I was wondering this morning, as I drove to work, and tried to pray, to talk with Jesus about a number of concerns of my own heart, and a number of concerns for friends and family who are struggling, if other people have the same problem I have, or if the way my heart cares is something unique to me.

My heart tends to be like a sponge - I absorb all the pain and toxins of my own life, and all of that from those I love. I'm getting better all the time at not carrying those things within myself, but I wondered, as my heart broke again today, if this is something unique to me?

I actually pick and choose social engagements depending on who will be there, and how susceptible my heart is to them.

Don't get me wrong, I don't avoid people whom my heart loves. I just find myself incredibly concious of what I absorb, and what that has done to my energy levels in a year where I've struggled with health.

I guess I'm just feeling a bit toxic this morning. Lots of my own pain, and recent and forthcoming encounters with those I care about.

And I wondered if others struggle with this as well...

Baggage.

I liked this cartoon at The Naked Pastor today. But I have this question: what happens when you're aware of at least some of your baggage (or a lot in my case) but seem to be powerless to get rid of it?