strep throat and a heavy heart

I read a few years ago that "weekend afternoon" are the two most beautiful English words put together. With the day just done, I ponder and propose that the best two words, when together, are rather these: "ordinary miracles".

Today has been a miserable mixture. With my throat killing me, my burning forehead signaling the fever, and all my energy vanished in a haze of illness, I was confirmed for strep throat. Then I started to languish, not only because of the loss of appetite and the yearning to stay in bed, but also because of a heart that houses a longing and a desire that was hanging by a thread.

I wished for a massage, for anything that would provide comfort. How marvelous it would have been if i was visited by an ordinary miracle! The kind that comes creeping during spring, or on a sunny summer day like this.

I kept my mobile phone closed. I refused to work. I wanted to revive my spirit and reclaim the pleasure of staying at home and really be at home and not slave away on some office-related work. I resolved not to take in stress into my life more than is needed.

I went through the day like I was in a haze, ending up lying down in the tv room bed and asking our home au pair to comb my hair to relieve my headaches. The only clear thing was the weight of Annika when she stretched out on top of me and Angela's small limbs curled alongside me.

Spooning clammy oatmeal with milk, i wondered if I have run out of magic. But I knew and believed that nobody runs out of miracles! And I badly need one. One that will let my fly in September.

When the sun started to go down, I opened the desktop and found Jason online. I told him about my predicament and from our conversation that was interspersed with the latest Nokia models, I realized that I have to weigh the importance of what I want, be clear with what I want to do should I not be allowed to have it, and be ready for consequences. Some guys are always willing to ram in some common sense into my weightless head.

I opened another message window and I started a dialogue with Monsignor Joy. The priest who officiated my wedding, Monsignor Joy was the kind of person with whom it was so easy for me to transport from predicament to problem. But he was always accommodating, and ever helpful to give me guidance. Without pride nor arrogance, he reminded me that God gives messages through the people of my life, and that I have to listen closely and discern if I am indeed hearing the right things, or only the things I want to hear.

Armed with resolve in what I can do in one hand and the humility to accept what is God's will for me in another, I welcomed the horn of Mike's car, the sound of the garage gate opened by the house guard, and the call that dinner is served. I went to Mike and asked for a hug. When the dazzling and extraordinary life-altering marvels are lacking, a hug is more than enough in the whole world.

With a back rub from Mike and my Erythromycin tablets, I prepared to call it a night. And I prayed that an ordinary miracle happens to me. Maybe not one that would lead me to Netherlands, but one that would help me restore my soul, clear my mind, fortify my will, and stabilize my emotions. And yes, to cure my strep throat.

With that thought, I shall go to sleep.