Sat 28 Feb, 2009
I’ve been dropping the word “pneumonia” here and there around the blog for since the middle of January, and before that I may have mentioned I had bronchitis. This has been a winter of poor health, with one thing leading to another, but not yet to recovery. I saw a specialist last Monday and that helped a lot, but it’s not over yet. I’m not entirely sure what shape I’m in right now, except that I don’t have the doctor’s clearance to swim—I had been swimming two miles a week—and I have days of feeling quite strong that alternate quite mysteriously with days when I can’t seem to do much of anything.
Yet I have much to be thankful for. Bacterial pneumonia was once almost always fatal, but in this age of antibiotics, for me and my family it has really been just one long inconvenience. My job is secure, I’ve been able to keep up with some of it, and I’ve been able to read, pray, listen to music, and write, all of which are great loves of mine. I’ve had more time than usual with my wife, and she (amazingly) still loves me anyway!
It’s a reminder of human fragility, of course. I learned in high school that entropy tends to increase. I find I’m taking that a lot more personally these days. (That happens when you own a home, too!)
One of the major challenges has been the sheer sameness of being at home so much. I’ve participated in some work- and church-related activities, but only with limits. The Internet can fill only so much of one’s quiet time, even when discussions on the blog have been as lively as they’ve been. (Television is no help at all.) When the quiet times have not been occupied with some kind of activity, I have been trying (somewhat successfully) simply to value them for what they are: times not to be so concerned about being productive or entertained, but just to be quiet with God. No huge new spiritual enlightenment that has come from it, but I don’t think that is the point anyway. I’ve just enjoyed being with God, more than when I’m very busy.
I’m reminded of John Milton’s great Sonnet LXXI, “On His Blindness.” I quoted this not long ago here, but it fits well enough now to bear repeating. (The “talent which is death to hide” and “lest He returning chide” are allusions to Matthew 25:14-30.)
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,—
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
I fondly ask:—But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: God doth not need
Either man’s work, or His own gifts, who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:—
They also serve who only stand and wait.
My service is far from perfect, even standing and waiting. It is God’s kingly grace that sustains and gives hope, and yes, even joy in a time like this. I’m looking forward to being back to full health, and I expect that to come presently, but God is good now as always.
