Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Vitamin Ill

"Maybe I'm allergic to strawberries," my 14-year old son theorizes after his second day of work at a local farm. "I was sneezing all day."

But one look at his face, one swipe of his forehead with my own palm, and I know. "Jared, you're just sick," I announce to his instant groans. "No school for you, even if there are only three more days in the year."

Too feverish to respond with his usual fervor, my ailing son simply nods and stumbles off to his bed. He's no better in the morning, and so I cancel a few plans and settle in. Sure, I leave him behind, here and there: He's a big kid and actually starts to recover partway through the day. But this is small gap of togetherness I'm not willing to waste.

The future looms large, after all, and it's a busy one. Summer on the strawberry farm, studies each afternoon, and pool time whenever he can fit it in. Jared will be anything but bored as he nurtures a love of forging, reading, and Minecraft on the side, too. It's just how God intended it when he designed all kids to grow up. Their interests shift. Their world broadens. And before long ... I hold back a melancholy sniff. Before long, he'll spread his wings, fly the nest, and start the circle all over again.

So today stands out in my mind, for two reasons. One, I don't often get to care for my stoic son, well or sick. He experiences highs and lows in characteristic silence, letting his few words be used to dole out witticisms or the ever-present sarcasm about which I constantly chide. Today, I soak up my chance to some surreptitious doting - sure he'll stop me if he realizes just how much I'm enjoying it.

But in addition to this little gem supplied by my son's sickness, there's another. In a busy home with several siblings, a home that only outsourced the kids schooling in the past few years, time is a precious commodity. Today, rather than rush from task to task, I take minutes and even hours to simply sit in my son's presence. Sometimes, he speaks up: A surprising amount, actually, considering is personality and physical state. Sometimes, we sit in silence. But all the time, I'm deeply aware that this shared space is a gift. Sure, it came at a cost to Jared's health. But it is a gift all the same. We laugh and joke. We sit down to our lunches several hours too soon. Just before school gets out, we take a trip to a local thrift store where he finds a favorite book - and chuckles while he reads me excerpts all the way home. By the time I pick up Jared's siblings, I am glowing, and feel a little surprised they don't see. This has been a red-letter day -- I treat I'll treasure during the many Jared's-left-home years ahead.

Silently, I breathe a small prayer of thanks. God, You're so good!

Yes, our health is a gift. But sometimes, God allows a short sickness to season our lives with other gifts, too. I remind myself of this fact later in the evening when my own forehead feels noticeably warm. Here we go ... I think with a wry smile. Another gift in the making.

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