I’m Sick Of Being Sick

Well, It’s not me that’s sick really. It’s worse. It’s my son. Fever, upset stomach, feeling lousy. He’s asleep right now so he looks calm and peaceful.

I’m not. The biggest test of my faith (so far) seems to be when the kids are sick. Like when it’s 11 pm and one of the boys is coughing so bad he can’t sleep and I whisper a prayer that God would let him stop so he can have some rest. It’s not a selfish prayer, it’s for my child. But as soon as I’m finished thinking the words… COUGH! cough, cough…cough, hack…. It almost mocks me. Why bother to pray at all?

Then I remember that I’m not promised an easy time in this life. My children don’t get a pass because I want what’s best for them. None of us get to escape this life unscathed.

My kids are much smarter than I am, or at least they are able to speak simple truth better than I do. I remember about two years ago my oldest, eight or nine years old at the time, had strep throat. I didn’t know it, but strep can give you bad headaches, and that’s what was happening to him. He was laying in bed and looked at me with tears in his eyes,

“Dad?” 

“Yeah buddy?”

“I can’t wait for the New Heaven and the New Earth.”

“Me too, buddy, me too.”

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