Today it’s official.
All 4 of us are sick.
Yesterday my baby-boy was sent home from school with a head-ache. (First time I’ve ever had to pick him up.)
Last night I forbid him from attending his Ooey-gooey club at church–especially difficult seeing as how I am the club’s teacher so his little-sister and I both “got” to go.
And this morning. . . puke city.
Oh the dreaded silver-bowl.
He is so brave. He doesn’t whine or cry at all.
Whenever he gets sick I feel like I catch a glimpse of the man he is going to be.
Just like his father.
I HATE seeing him sick, but there is something kind of beautiful about it.
A strength in the fragility.
His body is in this weakened state, but his resolve. . . his spirit. . . those are in tact.
He is not sick, he’s perfect–his body is sick.
Earlier this month my husband and I committed ourselves to completing the “Daniel Fast” with some friends.
We are almost done with our 21 days and I was just telling him how each moment I go without cheating on the diet I feel empowered.
Like I’m in charge of my choices.
Soul over body.
Last year I chose to fast two days a week during Lent, and it gave me the exact same feeling. Like no matter how much my body wanted to eat during those 24 hours, my soul was stronger. It made the decisions.
We are not our bodies.
- Soldiers who lose limbs in war prove that.
We are our souls.
- My son’s strength during this illness proves that.
“You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”