*Disclaimer: This is definitely a more vulnerable post than those I have written thus far. I'm by no means a believer in using the internet as a person's diary, but I see no fruit in pretending we have it all together and therefore will share the lessons we are learning, including the harder ones. For those of you who are shifting uncomfortably in your seats at the thought of getting a little deep for a blog post, this might be a good time to return to Pinterest.
I hate being sick.
Obviously that seems like a "duh" statement. Is there anyone that really enjoys being sick? Surely not. But I really, really, really despise being ill.
Of course there's the whole "I feel like I'm dying" part, but there are many facets as to why being sick is so despicable.
However.
That's not what we're going to focus on today. Instead, we're going to pay more attention as to why being sick is so very good for me.
If by this point you haven't deduced that I was recently very ill, here's your pick up point: I was recently very ill. All day Saturday, in fact. Husband and I had a very comfortable evening on Friday, eating pizza and watching The Return of the King (extended edition......it was a very, very comfortable night). Halfway through the movie I felt a little funny but I have this problem where when I'm starting to get sick, I convince myself that by sheer force and determination I will outwit my body and therefore dominate the sickness by choosing not to be sick. I have yet to actually win this battle. We went to bed and by 3:30 that morning I was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, praying that God would just take my life and call it good. (I also tend to be a little dramatic, if you haven't noticed...)
But seriously. I don't recall ever having been this sick, at least not in a very, very long time. I've caught the stomach bug a few times since I've been in college, but it was nothing like this. I finally stopped throwing up (sorry if thats TMI for anyone, I tell it like it is) around 10 that morning, and laid in bed for the rest of the day. But like I said, I have never felt like this before. The simple task of lifting up my head seemed comparable to climbing Everest in scuba gear. It felt darn near impossible. (Drama, right?) But really, I felt quite helpless. Sweet Husband had to be at work at 11 and told me he would call my best friend to bring me crackers and Sprite, to which I respectfully declined. I didn't need to be taken care of, I would be fine, I told him. His reply was so simple, but so strong and convicting. "Chandler. People want to love you. Let them love you." I was a little embarrassed and still didn't want him calling Brittney, but was much too sick to put up a fight and knew, though I didn't want to admit it, that he was right. I didn't think much on what he said until the next day when my brain felt fully functioning again, but I still tucked it away to mull over later. Of course, my wonderful, kind, and ever so witty bestie brought me all kinds of goodies for a sick stomach, and just sat with me for 2 and a half hours in case I needed anything. While she was there my fever spiked up and I was the worst company in the history of friendships, but nevertheless she stayed with me until it was almost time for Josh to come home. Once he was back, he picked up where she left off and continued taking care of me, (from helping me hold my head up while I drank to walking me to the bathroom to keeping the house at a freezing 64 degrees to try and cool me down), even despite my feeble attempts to tell him to go do something better with his time. He gently, patiently, and firmly kept reminding me that there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be.
I promise there's a point to all of this.
The next morning I felt much more like a human again, praise the Lord, and have since been contemplating what Josh had said to me and what I had seen from two people I love the most in those 24 hours.
People want to love you. Let them love you.
This seems like a rather elementary concept, and yet, it has been hard for me to swallow.
I've always had a very difficult time asking for help. Many people call this a pride issue, and while I'm still working through the real heart behind this issue, I'm not entirely convinced it's purely pride as much as it is that I hate inconveniencing people. And I do mean hate. The thought of someone having to go out of their way to do something for me makes me cringe. The real root issue here, I think, is not so much pride as it is my constant battle against being a people pleaser instead of a God pleaser. I've struggled against it my entire life and pray through it daily, but it is one of my deep idols and something the Lord is ever constantly seeking to strip me of. I'm so afraid of taking advantage of someone's hospitality or wearing out my welcome that I will go to any length to make sure that neither of those things happen. I can't get past this self made notion that people don't actually want to do the things that they offer to do for me, they're just offering out of obligation. And so I will deny, deny, deny the help that I need in order to keep on someone's "good" side. So yeah, actually, maybe that is pride. But again, my very wise husband brought up the point that if people offer to do something they don't actually want to do, that is their issue, not mine...and where is the gospel in that belief? Would I deny my Savior his offer to help me? One of my favorite quotes that our pastor at New Life often says is, "Jesus came to do for us that which we would not and could not do for ourselves." I think what strikes me most about this is not the could not, but the would not. Even if we had the ability, we would not save ourselves. Our hearts are so prone to sin and so naturally corrupt that even if we had the option of saving ourselves from sin, we wouldn't do it. And so Christ, in all his perfection and love, chose to help us because we would not help ourselves.
How could I deny Him that?
And additionally, how could I deny the people I love the opportunity to reflect Christ and show me the Gospel as they have been commanded to do? People want to love me, serve me, and help me when I cannot help myself because Christ has loved us, served us, and helped us when we cannot and will not help ourselves. And so, I'm learning. I'm learning that when someone offers to pick me up from school, or to buy me dinner, or to take care of me when I'm really ill, it isn't because inside they're thinking "Oh dadgum it, I didn't think she'd actually take me up on that....well heck, now I'm really in a pickle"...One because no one really talks like that, and two it's because they love me, and they want to be allowed to love me. That was a rather humbling thought for me.
I apologize if this has been a little scattered. I'm usually not such an external processor, but these are just the musings of someone still somewhat recovering from what was potentially a form of the Black Plague. (OH the drama). But because of it, I received a much needed taste of Humble Soup...because lets be honest, there's no way I could have kept the Pie down.
