I’m sitting here surrounded by tissue and elderberry cold extract, and sneezing, and coughing and sounding like my voice has dropped seventeen octaves.
Shoot me now.
But then I watch as my husband makes supper, from my perch in my comfy chair, of his own volition after a long day working in the bowels of an old and complicated yacht, and I see the blessing that resides next to my germy Kleenex mountain.
Pots are simmering, the oven is humming, dishes are clanking.
There’s a goodness to it. My virus-submerged head acknowledges it.
God’s blessing filling the places where despair tries to settle.
I choose in that moment to say, “Lord, you are good.”
Earlier I was tucked into bed, letting my body do nothing else but fight off this doozy of a lurking head cold. Stuck under blankets, unable to get up and greet the day, I feebly lifted my phone and noticed a dozen notifications awaiting me.
They were friends from a writing/blogging group I participate in, sending me a barrage of prayer and warm thoughts and scripture, worrying about me, and encouraging me to feel better soon.
And we’ve never met face to face, and they didn’t have to say a thing, but those messages felt like this very real blessing where exhaustion and defeat were sneaking up on me a moment before.
And I stopped to sneeze, then closed my eyes and chose in that same moment to say, “Lord, you’re so gracious.”
Later on the couch, my dog laying across my feet snoring, not leaving my side all day, sensing I wasn’t myself, all lights except the Christmas ones off, (yes, I will keep my lights up through the chill and darkness of January when most folks have long taken them down) I doodle in my journal next to my son, and he chats about history of war, this class he never thought he’d enjoy in school and is, and I take a soul-snapshot of the blessings happening right there in the room.
And I silently lift a, “Lord, you are this sure foundation, right here.”
And maybe it’s the elderberry extract, or maybe I’m just a baby when I’m sick, but it occurs to me that once again today might just be a lesson in peace. In faithfulness. In happiness not being a reaction to the good, but a substance that endures through the dross and delights of life.
Happiness lurks in the very ordinary sometimes. There in the daily stuff we all take for granted is the thread, the tracing of His Hand in the hum.
He is the author of every good thing. He IS every good thing there is to be had. Durable and accessible.
The question then becomes;
Has He already become your Every Good Thing?
I sit with my honey lemon tea and my husband’s thickest socks and decide that if I’m stuck at home with this illness, then I might as well avail myself of some time to tuck into all the evidence of His presence, of His faithfulness, of His goodness. I have nowhere to go, but into His courts, and soak in the grace, and healing, and relationship that I sometimes place on the back burner because I’m too well and too busy most times to remember that He’s been waiting to be what propels our day, or carve our path.
Head colds lurk, family issues arise, heavy choices pop up, chaos, drama, and complicated situations will abound at various times. But we have a Strong Tower to run to, a Provider who aches to provide, and a Friend who sticks closer than any other.
I guess I say all of this to urge you to take a look around. Look for the trace of His Hand where ever you are right now. Threads of His provision. Glances of His graciousness extended to you right there.
Acknowledge it. Give thanks for it. Rely on it. Treasure it.
Finally, I curl up with my blanket and think of all the times I thought I had to go searching for Him and hunt Him down because the situation I was in was less than ideal, so God must be elsewhere.
And instead, He chose to be right there, already in the middle of it, and I missed every sign of Him despite my anxiousness to locate Him.
That’s just so like us, isn’t it?
But not today. Today we look closely and shift our perspective.
Today He becomes our Every Good Thing.