Thursday, March 29, 2012

I fell ill and wrote a song and talked to the flowers for hours and hours

"Oh! good morning little flower!  I am so happy to see you today.  Are you my present?  A gift for me?  You are so beautiful!"

I continued talking to my brand new bloom in like manner until my husband entered the room.  Then I got all embarrassed.

"Hey!" said Mr Pistol.  "Did you notice your flower bloomed? It looks nice."

"Yeah.  It looks pretty...."

I tried to restrain myself but could not.


"Mmmhmm." says he.

I have been quite ill the last few days.

My children did it to me, of course.

You coddle and cuddle and wuddle and muggle with your baby loved ones when they are ill.

You don't mind a fig if they snoot and snot on your shoulders and pant legs.  You feel their hot foreheads and administer to their needs.  You get up at 3am to provide breathing treatments and vomit buckets.

You do all of the things with good spirits and a healthy body.

Once their fevers have returned to regular and their bowel movements are not explosive you can begin to hope for normalcy...

But NAY!  Not so!  For it is time.  Mama must fall ill.  And Mama will fall hard.

Children will be monkeys and feeling fine.  "I'll so glad I'm feeling fine!" they chant.  And you, from your bed of fever and grief, are happy for them.

You cough.  You wheeze.  You scold yourself. You can't just lie here!  How will they survive without you?!  Who will water the plants and the people?

You feel guilty.  OH THE GUILT OF A MOTHER FALLEN ILL!  There is no more terrible guilt than that.

They NEED me, you cry. 

You watch your husband frantic with worry.  Ordering pizza.  Putting lopsided pony tails on the wrong child.  Forgetting lunch money.

You watch your husband bring you tea and toast and Robitussin and ibuprofen and Tylenol on a silver platter.  Your heart wells within your congested chest.

Ahhh,  THIS is true love!  No other man on the earth would or could love me in such a manner as to serve and serve my weakened frame with no hopes of immediate sexual compensation!  Ahhhhh.  Love is a many splendored thing!

Many friends offer to come and bring soups and treats to buoy you up in your time of illness.

You decline.  There is NO WAY you want people coming over when you look like DEATH WARMED UP!  You have not the energy for small talk nor the energy to slap on the required makeup.  You have an image to uphold.  Full kabuki only.  ...although soup would have been much nicer than leftover pizza... and I really could have used a few cake pops...

It is pride that has put distance between you and your cake pops.  PRIDE!

I could really use some cake pops right now...

Falling ill has weakened my flesh and brightened my spirit.

I have written lyrics to a song tonight, as per request of a musician friend of mine. 
I was requested to write lyrics to a song featuring the Three Gardens in the Bible, The Garden of Eden, The Garden of Gethsemane, and the Garden of the Tomb.  I hope I have done the vision justice.  Thought I'd let you peek at it.  You being my closest friends and all... :)

Reign Of Peace
Turning through the holy scriptures
I search to heal the ache within
I've felt deep pain and seen the Light
Redemption from my every sin

I'm cleansed by His sweet Reign of Peace
With humble heart fall to my knees
Confessing Jesus is the Christ
 My Savior Lord and King

In my mind I see a garden
Rich, beautiful beyond my dreams
Eden dressed with rose and lily
Mist cooled and fed by sunshine's beams
A fruit had grown to tempt and try
The parents of all living Fell
Man was banished from that haven
Removed to battle death and hell

I'm cleansed by His sweet Reign of Peace
With humble heart fall to my knees.
Confessing Jesus is the Christ
My Savior, Lord and King

Another garden floods my thoughts
Olive trees and tears of sorrow
Blood watered their poor roots that night
His flesh would die upon the morrow
I hear His cry deep in my soul,
"Not as I will, but as Thou wilt"
If it be that Thou pass the cup
                  T'was not the plan. 
                             His blood was spilt.

I weep and hear, "Why weepest Thou?"
A final garden fills my view
Empty tomb; his voice rings clear
                     My life I've lived and died for YOU!"

Triumphant o'er the grave He stands
Majestic King of Kings
My Lord!  My God!  Accept my soul!
Thou hast redeemed me from death's hold

I'm cleansed by His sweet Reign of Peace
With humble heart fall to my knees
Confessing Jesus is the Christ
My Saviour, Lord and King