Being (sometimes) beats doing.

I'm having a poorly week. Lungs infected again and this time it's hit me pretty hard. For nearly 4 days I've hardly been able to crawl out of bed, though I made it downstairs last night in a somewhat jelly like state. What it did mean is that I couldn't do anything on the To Do list I'd been stressing over at the end of last week, and had to leave things be.

Now, at first, this frustrates me greatly. I am far too much an activist to be ill, and yet I'm ill so much you'd have thought I'd have learned by now to sit back and be graceful and lovely or something. But instead I mutter and annoy Tim about the mess downstairs and the to do pile. That is unless it's a really bad day, in which case I'll say nothing at all and give him some peace ;)

This time however, I've found something different. I found I could connect with God again. How does this work? In the last few weeks I've been busy but praying, but finding God's presence just...well, wasn't there. Or was, but not anywhere I could find it. Even in the asking. But it's when I get really poorly I finally find what I have been searching for. Just gently, just whispers, senses, something changing in the atmosphere, and suddenly I know it. God's with me.

Now, I know, of course, that this is always the case, but let's face it, it's not something that's always tangible. So here's the question: Why is it that it's in the time of the most suffering that God reveals Godself more tangibly? God could just heal me, or something, but instead there's this amazing grace, this gentle love, this awesome presence weaving through my pain. I almost think these times are a gift in some way.

Now, this doesn't happen every time I'm ill, don't get me wrong. There will be those times I just feel devoid of it all and wonder where God is anyway and grumble and feel generally sorry for myself. But just occasionally there is this grace, if I allow it. And it's pretty good.

So where does that leave me? Is being poorly better than being well? Is being better than doing? Well....hmmmm. No, being ill is not better. I'd have happy lungs if I could. But I think we could all do well to stop sometimes. To slow down and be, and let God find us in that vulnerability and lack of activism.

When I get better and get up will I remember this? Maybe. Or maybe I'll start stressing about my to do list. There must be a balance somewhere, I feel...

Strength and Self Pity

Yesterday I indulged in a nice little Pity Party, all by myself.

Adventure Bloke had come home from an hours run and had rather nice calf definition, if I may say so. But there was me, deciding that it was Not Fair that I could not go out on an hour's run and have calf definition. Because I have messed up lungs, and because yesterday was a Bad Day. I did get the Adventurous pair to the park after school, but paid the price. Breathing? Bonus!

This led to me wallowing in a bit of good old fashioned self pity. Many of you lovely people say to me that I am so strong and brave. But I'm not, really. I cry and I scream and I rant at this disease, and I don't feel very strong at all. I indulge in some envy fairly often. Last night it was envying the midwives on One Born Every Minute. You see, I would love to do that job, what an exciting place to be (I know, sad, exhausting and draining too) But I can't. So I envy their strength. Then I start envying the Adventurous Pair's teachers at school, because they are doing the job I used to do, and used to do rather well, really. Then I start envying people on the street, people at the gym, checkout people in Morrisons. Because they are strong (or seem so to my narrow view) Because they don't have screwed up lungs. Because they can work. Because they can run and have Calf Definition.

Adventure Bloke demurred my kind invitation to my Pity Party, but let me attend nevertheless. Afterwards, he hugged me, and said it was OK. I think that's kind of like God. I don't think God expects me to be calm and stoic at all times and to smile at my disease and say 'it's fine, these things come to try us.' I rather think instead that God hurts with me. That when the pain is so bad I cry that God cries too.

I have learnt that life is not fair. My parents used to tell me this a lot. And to my disgust I now use the same phraseology to my children, which annoys them just as much as it did me. But it is really not. Is life fair for those in Japan affected by the tragic events lately? Life fair for those caught in conflict in Libya? Life fair for the Mumsnetter who lost her darling 2 year old son to cancer last week?

Some say when we talk about suffering that it is God's will. But substitute that phrase for the 'is life fair' phrase in the paragraph above. Can that really be said of God? I don't think so. I don't believe God wills this stuff. But I do believe God is in it with us. My understanding is flawed and shallow and tinged with self pity. But my experience is of a God who hurts, who knows what it is like to lose a child and knows what it is like to not be able to breathe through pain. And who has done something about it.

So I'll still engage in the occasional pity party, I reckon, if only to justify chocolate eating. But then I'll remember the verse from Psalm 73: "My health fails, my spirits droop, yet God remains! He is the strength of my heart, he is mine forever."