Chicken Soup

I am in bed today, covered by a tattered star-patterned quilt, shoulders propped up by three pillows and a headboard, my little dog Harley curled up where he can see out the bedroom window. What started Tuesday as a sore and scratchy throat has become a full-blown summer cold with chest congestion, fever and cough. I went to bed early last night, without a good night kiss, my husband refusing to risk it.

This morning, as I waited for my chicken soup to warm, I walked into my husband's office and appropriated his laptop. It appears we last used it in April. Perhaps I'd better plug it in. I find an outlet in our bedroom, accidentally unplugging the clock for just a moment. It flashes an angry random time, annoyed by the power failure, demanding to be reset. I unplug it again. Who needs to know what time it is anyway?

I thought about Christine Caine, The Core Issue. She writes, "...eventually the stress and intensity of my schedule took its toll on my body, and I collapsed. Quite literally, in fact. I threw my back out, and my life came to a screeching halt." pg 46

She was forced to stop doing. She simply had to be still.

Tuesday over coffee, my friend Perry said, "Breathe. Find the sustainable pace, the rhythm, like a swimmer. Inhale air. Exhale into the water."

Christine Caine writes, "... I stopped drowning out the voice of my heart."

"Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all thing and be in health, even as your soul prospers." 3 John 2

The laptop saves a draft of this blog. 10:54 AM.

The alarm clock remains unplugged.

Drowning.

Breathing.

A forgotten bookmark, a gift from my friend Andrea, rests at page 139 of The Core Issue, Day 1 of a study "The Art of Being ... authentic Christianity, external actions flowing naturally from an internal life lived in intimacy with our Creator."

Is today the day I begin?

Rw