My husband hasn't gotten out of bed for two days. He's rarely ill and never complains, so this degree of surrender reveals the severity of his sickness.
The girls, on the other hand, aren't sick enough to be complacent and groggy. They're just sick enough to be irritable.
As for me, I'm holding firm, knowing that if I go down, the household could grind to a halt.
I had other plans for this weekend. I had papers to grade and lectures to plan for next week. I had errands to run and (can you believe it?) an actual event to attend with Joel this evening.
Everything has been pushed aside, and a new plan for the weekend has unfolded: to care for the family one dose of antibiotic, one tissue, one glass of water, one Saltine cracker, and one load of laundry at a time.
On these kind of days -- these days that seem like interruptions to how your life should be unfolding -- I must remind myself that there's still purpose. It's not the plan I would have picked for today, but God reminds me that His plans supercede ours.
I had planned to be productive. Perhaps His plan was for me to be poured out instead.