Serving

I rarely feel the size of our family quite as keenly as I do when sickness is afoot. This past month has given me plenty of opportunity to do the math, and last week, it only got worse. We’re now mid-stream in an admittedly losing battle against influenza that has given me no room to think “we’re not really that big of a family.” Because if nothing else, solving the equation that pits our family’s population against two bathrooms when the flu is mixed in makes me acknowledge that we’re working with some real numbers here.

As a result of the ongoing sickness, what I thought I’d be doing this week hasn’t lined up with what I’m actually doing. I thought I’d be digging into Experiencing Advent (full confession: I haven’t even pulled it out yet), I thought I’d be pulling together a fun list of books and games and movies and activities to occupy the weeks Christopher will be on the field in Nepal in December. I thought I’d be coming up with some creative ways to give gifts on a budget that doesn’t really exist. And yet, what I’m doing is…

Serving

 

… serving.

I’m rocking sore, tired little bodies even though I’d like to crash into my own bed. I’m reading aloud with a feverish baby crashed out on my chest and a dozing preschooler spread out on the floor beside me. I’m toting water, flushing toilets, tracking times and doses on my phone.

It’s not glamorous. And its definitely not festive. But it’s good and humbling in all the best ways, like that moment in the middle of the night when you hear your husband’s breathing shift and realize that he’s the next victim, so you send up a heartfelt prayer that he avoids the worst of it, and give thanks that this is the worst you have the weather right now.

Serving

 

Already, those who were hit first are beginning to move around more and find their sea legs. Simon, especially, has rebounded with a vengeance unique to 3 (almost 4!) year-old boys for whom any length of time spent confined is sheer agony. We’re seeing our final members fall prey to the bug, and are biding our time, praying this out of our house before The Long Haul that will find us, for the first time, doing the Advent season without Daddy to lead the celebration.

Serving

 

But most of all, we’re serving, all of us. We’re doing what needs to be done, as we can, with all the love and patience and strength we can muster. This, too, shall pass. And we’ll be the better for it, in the end. Serving is never an act returned void, after all. It always does its work in the heart of the servant, and blesses us even more than it blesses those whom we serve.