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With much effort, I hauled my seemingly dead-weight body out of bed and slogged the short distance to the kitchen. My throat and mouth were studded with eraser-sized pustules, making it painful to swallow, yet I felt parched for hydration. I just wanted a drink of iced tea. Reaching into the cupboard to retrieve the powdered mix, I knocked over a bottle of molasses that was waiting to be made into my special cookies, and it went crashing down onto the linoleum. Glass and black goo spattered across the kitchen floor. I plopped down next to the mess and cried.
It was Christmas time and I was quite ill with mononucleosis. I lived by myself in the small apartment and it was very early in the morning, so had no one to call for help. Being sick and alone was hard enough, but for it to happen at Christmas made it seem even more miserable. I called out to God for comfort; for some form of acknowledgement that He heard me and was taking care of me.
As I sat with knees drawn up and my head on my arms, lyrics to a favorite song from scripture rang in my throbbing head:
But thou, O LORD, art a shield for me; my glory and the lifter up of mine head.Psalm 3:3 KJV.
I knew in my heart that God was there for me, but I longed for more tangible evidence that He cared that I felt so alone. Eventually, I was able to clean up the mess, and even made myself some tea before crawling back to bed.
That same evening, I was resting in my room when I heard the doorbell ring and heard strains of a Christmas song. “Who would be coming to see me?” I was sick and I looked and felt terrible, yet donned a robe and plodded to the door. I cautiously opened it and was shocked to see familiar faces from my church singles group. They had come the 12 miles to carol at my door! They sang two songs, prayed for my healing and handed me a plate filled with Christmas cookies before leaving for the next stop. I thanked them, and as I closed the door, thanked God for the gift of caring.
With an achy body, yet lifted spirit, I set the cookies onto the kitchen counter, remembering the earlier puddle of molasses and shattered glass on the floor. This year, I was too sick to make Christmas cookies, besides now missing the main ingredient, yet God provided, even if I could not enjoy the traditional family treat. The thoughtfulness of their loving generosity was such a gift to me, and did much to lift my head from the darkness of despair. Indeed, God is my shield, and I praised Him for providing a physical response to my cry as I sat amidst a sticky mess on the kitchen floor.
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