I awoke to a hurting throat, and when I thought of the things that need to be done in the next four days, I swallowed hard, and that hurt. I staggered to the shower and realized my head hurts, too, I'm sneezing and surprised that I didn't escape the miscroscopic germs that are slowing greeting each one in our family. For such little critters, they have amazing reach.
Being sick is an inconvenience I don't have time for.
And I think of Mary. Was she a little sick, a bit weak, not quite up to the tasks before her? Did she swallow hard the News that got stuck in her throat? Did she feel imperfect? Inadequate? Under pressure? Intimidated?
Perhaps being sick is right where I'm supposed to be, remembering I am unable, ill-prepared, just plain ill, and in need of hope.
I leave for work with a cup of hot green tea and a head full of mucus. I feel my acute humanity and my heart feels pregnant with Advent.