Patience and Popsicles

In the book of Exodus in the Bible, God rescues the enslaved Israelites from their Egyptian captors. King Ramses II is the reigning Pharaoh of Egypt and after witnessing God’s mighty displays of power through a series of ten plagues, Ramses reluctantly allows the Hebrews to leave.

Ramses’ decision lasts about a couple of hours, maximum.

Ramses sends the Egyptian army after the Israelites, in the hopes of slaughtering them all.

The Hebrews are trapped. Pharaoh’s army behind them, the Red Sea in front of them. Death by sword or drowning, neither choice palatable.

God parts the Red Sea, allowing just the Israelites to make it to safety, and then closes the waters upon the Egyptian army, drowning them.

Happy ending?  You would think so. But it didn’t take long for the Hebrews to start whining and complaining about their accommodations and food, similar to leaving a cruddy review on your Airbnb stay.  They complain to Moses and Aaron, the brothers who were called to lead them out of slavery.

“ In the desert, the whole community grumbled against Moses and Aaron. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death.”    Exodus 16, verses 2 and 3.

When I first read that chapter, I was horrified by how whiny the Hebrews were after they’re rescued from abject misery. It’s like the Hebrews all have collective amnesia.  Ramses?  Oh, what a sweetie!  Life under slavery? The food was to die for!

I tell you all this to let you know that you’re in good company if you turn whiny when God redirects you away from a ‘comfort zone.’

My entire family has fallen ill with Covid this week, with the exception of one teenage son with bragging rights and the immune system to back it up. I rewarded his trash talk by giving him the lion’s share of dog duty.

We have all been taken aback at how just when we believe we are on the mend, symptoms pop right back up again like an enthusiastic prairie dog. If you have ever played the arcade game, “Whack-a-Mole,” it feels exactly like that.

I am usually a hustle and bustle mother, with limited hours to ‘get it all done.’

Covid the illness initially seemed like something to whine about.

Covid the GIFT is not.

Before Christmas, I had felt pressured to get all the shopping done on limited energy and didn’t feel like I had truly enjoyed my children’s holiday break from homeschooling.

Back to busyness was not what God wanted either apparently.  Instead, my husband brought home the “Rona Cooties” as we call them the day after we were supposed to attempt to get back into the school groove.

No school. No real housecleaning. No cooking as everyone just wants popsicles and other light foods.

In other words, this is my Christmas time. The time to just listen to my children and be fellow couch potatoes as we have intermittent fevers.

I have gotten to enjoy the sarcasm that I have proudly handed down to my children. They are sarcastic gremlins and I love them for it.

For example, when our 16-year daughter got a positive result back on her rapid Covid test, she seemed a little too excited. She smiled a fiendish grin that reminded me of Godzilla about to unleash a world of hurt on Tokyo. “Think of all the old people I could cough on. I have such POWER.”   

I told her through my howls of laughter, “Only you would instantly see yourself as a bioweapon ready to be unleashed, you gremlin.”

Relax, dear readers, I have kept her under lock and key.  

Last night I was putting my 8-year-old daughter and 11-year-old son to bed and as I was reaching my hand onto their door, I could hear them enthusiastically talking to each other about something that was SO BIG.

I opened the door and asked what was SO BIG?  A spider on their wall was their reply.

“What did you do with it?”

“We threw it in (big brother’s) room.”    To be fair, he is the brother without Covid. I walked across the hall to get the story from him and he was… salty.

“Mom, they just open my door without knocking, throw random spiders in my room and run away laughing.”

I choked on my laughter for a full five minutes at the mental imagery. Eventually, even the 14-year-old cracked a smile.

Today my 29-year-old son informed me that while he was sleeping, he heard a strange kazoo noise that eventually annoyed him enough to question what it was. Until he realized that it was his own nasal congestion turning his nose into a musical instrument.

I warned him I was going to share about it on my blog because that is comedy gold.

“What’s that #$%$# noise?”   “Oh, it’s me…..”

Not every moment has been sarcasm or silliness. Today my husband, a natural-born cuddler, asked me to lay down for a while with him as he faded into a much-needed nap. I would normally be ‘in a hurry’ to teach the kids, make a meal, vacuum a carpet, etc… Too busy to sit still, lay down, just provide that extra morsel of comfort.

Today I lay in his arms for an hour, because I was physically so tired and weak. It was just really nice to be sick with my best friend. No demands on my time. The only demand was to be fully present for him. I remembered that I really like being cuddled by my husband.

I realized that I was so foolish after Christmas. I wanted to return to my ‘captivity’ of busyness. Slavery of my own making.

God wanted me free. Free to love those around me, to revel in their personalities. To make memories. To rest. To take an hour out of my day to honor Him and share it with you, dear reader.

Covid has been a weird mixture of patience and popsicles… and praise. Praises to the King who takes off the yoke of slavery and sets us all free.

Jesus said, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”   Matthew 11:28 -30

Happy 2022, dear reader.

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