Best of Times, Worst of Times...

So yesterday afternoon Daniel stopped even nibbling at his food and thus began my battle with worry. I recalled all the verses and promises and kept slinging my brain back over to the positive side and prayed and 'cast down imaginations' galore. But still, I puttered in the yard with my branch planters and thought about Daniel and washed the dishes and thought about Daniel and -- and thought, "If Daniel will just get well, I'll never complain again. There's nothing worth complaining about, truly, as long as my family and friends are healthy."


We took him back over to the vet's office this morning and after a preliminary check the wizened, much-experienced vet said he can't figure out why Daniel's in such a bad way. Why, in probably ten days, this weird infection could have killed him. So we left Daniel there at the office for over the weekend and all the money we're spending doesn't matter. I just want Daniel to survive this--to live and play with us and Sammy for many years to come.


We left the vet's office, drove around the town a bit and you know? I noticed I felt better, freer. We'd left Daniel with someone who could help him, the weather shone gloriously, and people were everywhere, smiling. We stopped at a rummage sale and church bells pealed a lovely tune then we drove to an estate sale where, first thing, I spied a kitchen clock, the only thing I truly needed since ours died yesterday. That and a perfect book (large print, even) and four place mats--and walked out of that house paying only $1 for the whole bag. Wow.


Then we traveled back toward our home beneath all those blue skies and stopped for lunch at our very favorite Happy Days sort of outdoor diner, the tiny place beside a river, and the sun felt so healing. Everything felt healing today and I knew that God had used our getting out of the house to heal me concerning this Daniel thing. To remind me there's a huge, interesting world He created and that it's much bigger than one sweet cat, even though He cares that I care so deeply for that cat. But still, anytime I feel it's alllll about me and myyyy pain, I'm wandering out onto some thin, scary ice.


Sometimes God heals me at home.
Sometimes He heals me at church.
Sometimes He heals me out in the countryside.
Sometimes He heals me at estate sales.
Sometimes He heals me through friends' kind words.
Sometimes He heals me by my obedience to refresh others.
Sometimes He heals me, whispering to me, while I drive around town.


Victory over a thing can come in different ways and places and through God or people or nature or unknown things--or a combination.


But what matters? It's that I follow God to whichever place He wishes the healing to happen this time. It matters that I listen to that still, small voice--and obey it. That I go where He goes, when He says go. And that I receive what He wishes to give me, rather than try to figure-out and fix the problem (or myself) my own way, instead.


Heaven forbid that I would even try such a thing.






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Goes without saying, we'd appreciate any prayers for little Daniel. And for us, too.




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Oh, and yes.... I did tell you, before, I was so very over yard sales. And I still am--honest! It's just that estate sales, for me, are more about touring older homes, imagining peoples' lives there and getting decorating ideas. And then, lastly, perhaps finding something useful to bring home with me. (She says, making her excuses....)  :)




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