The middle of October is always a bit rough for me. Okay, that’s an understatement. The reality is that I brace myself for this time of year, holding my breath and waiting to see how badly my fibromyalgia will flare up. Since I was 15 years old, I’ve gotten sick this time of year. Knocked flat sick. End up in the hospital sick. Fun fact: my first visit to Michigan was as a senior in high school when I was put into an in-patient head pain unit in Chelsea. I spent 3 weeks being pumped full of IVs and learning coping skills from the exceptional staff.
I hate being sick. My illness makes me miserable, and it’s a tough cross to bear sometimes. I don’t know that I know a single person with a chronic illness who feels differently. Nonetheless, it has always been a source of grace in my life. This past weekend I was reminded of that.
We’ve been trying to keep Sundays as a day of rest in our family. It’s been a concerted effort, and while I mightily strive for it, I often fail. It’s so hard to ignore the dishes, the laundry, the chores. It’s so hard not to want to get out in front of the week by getting a headstart on the to-do list and making sure the house is in full working order. This past weekend was shaping up to be no exception, until God and my illness stepped in.
We had a busy Saturday with a family event, and Mark unexpectedly was called into work. The kids woke up to the sounds of him getting dressed, so our day started at 5:30am. Everyone was cranky. My plans for accomplishing All. The. Things. were quickly dashed.
By the end of the long day, I was toasted, just completely drained physically, mentally, and emotionally, and I had no idea what I was going to do on Sunday. Usually when I haven’t gotten all the work out of the way on Saturday, I struggle with letting it go on Sunday. It’s a fight between my head and heart, and I sometimes find myself giving in to my inner Martha. That is even more likely to be the case when Mark has to work (which was the case this past Sunday). I can slip into the attitude of a martyr, feeling like everything is on my plate and life isn’t fair.
We went to mass as a family on Saturday evening, and I begged for grace to handle Sunday better than I had Saturday.
Sunday dawned with bright sunshine and crisp air, but also with a lot of pain. I didn’t have it in me to work on my to-do list. 30 hour shifts are a marathon, and I knew that I needed to conserve my energy lest I unexpectedly needed it later. I sat down to morning prayer despite an aching head, and felt the grace of that discipline fill me. There was peace amidst the chaos.
We ate breakfast and left the dishes next to the broken sink.
We went outside. The kids played and I sat in the sunshine and watched and read a book (Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver, highly recommend it!) We took a walk with their Nana.
By the afternoon, everyone was a little cranky and my health hadn’t rebounded despite the moderate exercise that sometimes works, so I kept my expectations low. We snuggled in and watched Anne of Green Gables. We got take out, something we rarely ever do, but with the sink broken and dirty dishes piled up, it felt like a good decision.
At the end of the day, the house was messy, the dishes still sat by the sink, and yet, I felt better, more rested, maybe not physically (definitely not physically- Charlotte appears to have a cold and does not like to sleep when that happens), but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually better. I credit that to two things-
The first is the Eucharist, the Sacrament that saves me week in and week out. I walked into mass yesterday evening trying to control my tears, and came out having received communion, so much more at peace. The grace is palpable.
The second, is because my illness gave me no choice but to rest, to be present, to slow down, to stop plowing through life. Sometimes our heaviest crosses can also be our greatest sources of grace. Time and again, God shows me that while He might not be healing me physically right now, He is most assuredly working in and through this illness.
Today I’m still tired, and I’m still in pain, but my heart is a whole lot lighter thanks to yesterday’s day of rest. I hope that I’ll remember this lesson next Sunday, and rest, whether or not I’m sick.