Grateful for the space

I’m finally sitting down to write after nearly a week of making room for a voracious stomach bug in this house. In a series of unfortunate events, my husband and I both woke to this little demon on the same night–hours apart from one another. This novel occurrence hasn’t come up before and I’m leaning hard on the hope that it doesn’t happen again. For as much Lysol as we’ve employed recently, everyone took their turn, and the latest victim is upstairs napping, now.

I’ll spare you the details, and only reflect on the fact that there’s nothing like being (temporarily) incapacitated and doing any kind of thinking when you otherwise ought to be sleeping; no time to contemplate the big and small things in life like that when faced with cold, white porcelain.

And so it is this week that I find myself immensely grateful for my washer and dryer, for Gatorade and the space and time to be sick.

These wheels probably began spinning while our small church community took our first shift at the emergency overnight shelter last week, hosted in a local church basement when the temps dip below 20 degrees. When a frail, sickly, guest arrived, we quickly realized how ill-equipped we were for any of the 37 patrons to be ill. We had access to little more than a bathroom to offset the discomfort of being ill or weakened from the elements.

Thankfully the biggest requirement for our guests that evening was rest. But where can these folks have the good fortune of getting sick? Or put their feet up during the day at 6 months pregnant?

Life-giving rhythm

I had originally planned to write about the beauty of the Zumba community that I’ve joined in the New Year. (Though honestly, I haven’t been up for that kind of gyration again just yet). I was struck one day last week about the way I’ve come to look forward to these hours as the most rhythmic, energizing, and diverse of my week.

Being a spoiled stay-at-home-mom, with an occasional window when my kids are in school, there is really no telling who I’ll find when (and if) I head to the gym: retired folks, people who work night shift, college students, etc. I expected an older crowd and wondered if I’d find camaraderie in that space. I have been so pleasantly surprised by whom I have found on these occasions—mostly women (but not all), older than me (but not all), folks with really great dance moves and people with zero inhibitions, people with differing abilities, and more cultural diversity in one room than in all communities in my life, combined.

So it is giving me life in lots of ways. I love the hugs and the music and my energy when I get to go and have been reflecting on what a gift this time is to me, probably unbeknownst to any of them.

Compelled toward gratitude

One of our go-to pastimes when we’re sick in this house is National Geographic’s: Planet Earth. Somehow I can justify binge-worthy amounts of screen time, when we can simultaneously escape our condition by beholding the wonder and beauty of the world. It’s such a grounding experience to be reminded that the world is so much bigger than what I regularly experience. In an unexpected way, each of these encounters has done that for me recently and I am grateful.

In an ironic, or providential bit of timing, I offered a reflection of the Feast of St. Blaise—on both the blessing of throats and the practice of being called out of ourselves in a way that delights the Creator. Hop on over to read the rest at Blessed Is She.

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***But wait, there’s more! For those of you interested in a Lenten Reflection book to walk you through Lent this season (Ash Wednesday is March 6th this year), the Blessed Is She journal went live last week and you can purchase on pre-order  discount and receive free shipping, here!