What Bed Rest Taught Me

There was the frenzied rustling of little feet running about, grabbing shoes, sifting through drawers, slamming doors. There was the muffled voice of another adult, “Ok, come on now, get your shoes on. Hey, do you need to use the potty? Ok, where’s the diaper bag?” Someone was giggling. There was running about and the sounds of screaming chase. The commotion was all too familiar. The scene plays on repeat daily in any house with toddlers when trying to get out the door. I typically find my frazzled self finally hopping into the car trying to let the feelings of pure frustration melt into complete relief that we are finally out the door and pulling away from the house. This time, however, as I heard the chaos ensuing, my feelings were marked with a profound sadness. Tears were welling up in my eyes as I heard a different adult ushering commands, comforting crying, filling up water bottles, and tying shoes. I tried to wipe away the tears while the door slammed one final time as my unruly crew headed off on some grand adventure without me. The house, suddenly silent, sounded strange and unfamiliar. 

I forced words of thanksgiving through my lips to push back the self-pity threatening to linger in my heart. “Thank you, Lord, there is someone today to care for my kids. Thank you that they get to do something fun today.  Thank you for all the people looking out for us.” How many days had I been feeling like an absolute lump on a log? I wasn’t sure. My life had found a new monotony that was running by the rhythm of four-hour medication dosing rather than the ups and downs of changing diapers, running to the bathroom, washing hands, and feeding little mouths. The days were all blurring together. I knew I was on my fifteenth evening of fever, but my illness had started long before the fevers. Was this week three? I tried to think back. The doctor’s words echoed in my head, “We expect six to eight weeks of hyper symptoms before the second stage of the illness.” It all seemed too much to wrap my head around. How had life suddenly dumped me useless in bed? 

As I lay there, I realized I was crying over not being present for many of the things I typically grumble about. Weren’t there so many days where I had all but begged for a little peace and quiet or a moment’s escape? Here I was. I had been dealt peace and quiet, and yet I was crying about it. It was at that moment, lying sick in bed, unable to care for my kids with others stepping in, that I was convicted. Rising from my bed every morning and putting my hands to the task of raising these kids – even the undesirable parts of it – was a privilege. I realized I wanted to be the one wiping snotty noses. I wanted to be the one putting on a Band-Aid and offering a hug after a fall off the bike. I wanted to be the one wiping under the highchair for the thousandth time. I wanted to be the one offering the kiss goodnight and tucking in the blanket for the third time. All of it was a package deal, the good and the bad, hand in hand. It all came together. Being handed that package was not only an incredible responsibility but also a great gift, and I was apt to complain about it. 

Lying there that day, I was struck that the good life was right in front of me. Even if it was hard. Even if there were bad days. Even if it was sometimes monotonous. Even if it required early morning wakings and late nights. It was still good. It was still worth giving thanks for. There didn’t need to be perfect peace at home nor a perfect day with no tantrums, no lost tempers, and no spilled water on the floor for the day to be celebrated and given thanks for. The fact that there was a day to be had, a life to be lived, a body to be raised from bed, kids to be hugged and cared for, a spouse to think about and love meant there was much to be joyful about, much to be humbled by, much to give thanks for. I had been given the good life. All of it. And I wanted to be present for it, singing praise through it, looking for God’s hand in it, rather than constantly envisioning moments of escape and reprieve. How ugly is the fruit that discontentment reaps. The very things that were given to us as gifts are the things that we can begin to despise and grow embittered towards. 

This life – whatever God has called you to, whatever he has put your hands to do – is a privilege. It isn’t guaranteed; it’s a gift. Let’s not keep looking for escapes from it. Let’s give our lives fully to it. Let’s hold nothing back. 

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

Colossians 3:15-17 and 23-24