For almost two weeks now, I haven't cooked a single meal, cleaned a single toilet, or changed a single sheet. Yet I remain well fed, my house remains clean, and I'm sleeping in fresh bedding, despite it all.
Since the day of my surgery, I have felt so taken care of, so loved. There's been little else for me to do but just get better.
And slowly, that's what I'm doing.
With an eight-inch incision in my abdomen, it's hard to actually forget about my surgery. Ever. But every day I find that I can walk a little straighter, sit at my desk a little longer, and even laugh without holding my belly. (Though what fun is laughing if you can't grab your belly and really lean into it?)
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my struggle to believe God truly loves me through all of the difficulties I have endured with cancer. It was an honest self-assessment, and the prayers I have prayed since then have been raw and heart-felt.
At some point along the way, though, maybe it was while Janice was here reading to me or while Bess was cleaning my toilets or while Mandy was bravely riding with me in my driving test a week and a half after my surgery, I realized that this care I am receiving and my cries to the Lord to show me his love have collided. The one is the answer to the other.
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ - Matthew 25:40
I'm not sure I'm part of "the least of these," but I do know Jesus often shows his love to others through me, and He often shows his love to me through others.
And right now, I'm having no trouble feeling loved.
Thank you, Jesus. And thank YOU. Your love is real.