It has been 16 days since I started to feel sick with COVID-19. Fifteen since I was diagnosed with it. And five days since I left the isolation of our guest room.
The biggest thing people have asked me is if I was really bored. And the answer is, yes, I was really bored. At least during the last few days of it. Out of 10, I’d say I was bored 3. The other 7 days I still felt too bad to be bored.
It helped that any activity required significant recuperation.
Take a shower? Lay down for 1.5 to 2 hours.
Eat a meal? Lay down for at least 45 minutes if not an hour.
Walk to the bathroom?
Lay down for 20-30 minutes.
Sitting up in bed was even exhausting. I’d sit up for about 15, then would have to lay back for 5 to 10.
And I’m still weak. Definitely not back to full strength. It’s bizarre. I get exhausted. Not necessarily ‘sleepy’ exhausted, more like I just need to pass out for a bit. And my body definitely lets me know when I’ve pushed too hard and reached those points.
Not to mention the brain fog is still around.
I bought a present for a friend today and then forgot that friend’s name on the way home from the store. Like COMPLETELY. Ridiculous. Worse than pregnancy brain!
In isolation I had entertainment. Things to keep me busy. Even if I was too tired and weak to do them, they were there. However, after about 6 days, I noticed something odd.
I hadn’t really prayed. Like at all.
That’s very unusual for me. I pray all the time.
At first I dismissed it because I was just too weak to feel guilty.
But it didn’t improve the better I started to feel. I still wasn’t praying. And oddly enough, I still didn’t feel guilty about it. It’s like my spirit was saying ‘but we haven’t had any opportunities to pray’. Which was bizarre because what else is there to do when you’re stuck in bed for a week and lifting a book is too much work? So I started to dissect that little nugget of misinformation.
It took awhile because of the brain fog.
And I came away with two conclusions.
The first:
I would be a horrible prisoner for Christ.
Every story in the Bible about prisoners shows them just praying and worshipping and I’m embarrassed to say…I wasn’t that impressed by that part. Yes, the prison part was horrible as was the potential for imminent death. But I have to admit, when I was small I thought, ‘Well, what else is there to do in prison?’
I have so much more respect.
That kind of prayer life doesn’t come about because you don’t have anything else to do. Let me tell you that boredom doesn’t lend itself to acts of faith. It’d be pretty great if it did. None of us would ever be bored again. We’d just pray and worship and be perfectly content.
That’s not the case.
Even if praying comes naturally to you and it’s one of your gifts, I still say that boredom doesn’t lend itself to that act of faith.
It’s a choice. You’re probably nodding your head here saying you knew that but seriously faith, THAT kind of faith, is a choice.
A decision that even if you’re strapped down and can’t do anything else, you choose to power through the boredom and listlessness to prayer. You have to push to the point of worship. You have to chase the Spirit in you because all you really want to do is lay back and wait for the Spirit of God to come entertain you.
Yes, yes, I know I was sick. Yes, I know my brain wasn’t operating at full speed. Still isn’t. But prayers don’t have to be complex. They don’t even have to be spoken aloud. I had enough strength for thoughts, incoherent as they were.
Prayer has to be done on purpose. Worship has to be done on purpose. Every man and woman that has ever been trapped in a cell because of their faith in Jesus WORKED to keep their prayers pouring through choice. It wasn’t because they were bored. It’s a choice.
And one I was really bad at making.
Which brings us to the second conclusion:
I am not one to sit and pray.
It bothered me that I felt like I hadn’t had any opportunities to pray.
Right when the isolation began, I remember telling a friend that I was going to try and use that time to really pray and listen.
It didn’t happen. At least not naturally.
And I realized, as I’ve said, that I am not one to sit and pray.
I never just sit and pray.
Even if it’s over somebody right in front of me.
I’m not still. I’ll lay my hands on them. I’ll shuffle my feet, rocking back and forth. I’ll squeeze their hands or shoulders.
I’m not still.
I prayed over a friend at her baby shower a few months ago. And since we were being as socially distanced as we could, I was at the back of the room, a good twelve feet from the closest person, so I could take my mask off and be better understood when I prayed.
And I still wasn’t still! I was shifting from foot to foot, arm outstretched toward my friend, eyes closed. I wasn’t aware just how much I had shifted till I opened my eyes when the prayer was over. I was no longer facing my friend. I was facing 90⁰ away from her, my arm outstretched to the parking lot.
Whoops.
But now I couldn’t even stand let alone shuffle around. Both of which were made doubly impossible because no one was allowed to be in the same room as me.
I wasn’t able to move. To DO.
I pray when I ‘do’.
I cook and pray.
I walk and pray.
I drive and pray.
I shuffle my feet and pray.
I DO something and pray.
I couldn’t pray because I couldn’t DO.
That’s why I didn’t really feel guilty about it.
I really hadn’t found any opportunities to pray.
The only problem is that’s just not true.
I don’t have to do something to be able to pray.
The sincerity and success of my prayers is not attached to my productivity. Even if the action I’m completing will benefit the person I’m praying for.
The ‘do’ is just a crutch.
Now, let’s be honest, I’m going to pick that crutch up again when I’m back to ME. I know I will. It’s not a bad crutch. It absolutely helps me down the path of faith.
But I need to learn that I don’t have to actually be moving to be able to pray.
I’m still having a hard time with this.
I’m still feeling a little disconnected, spiritually speaking.
It doesn’t help that my brain is still scrambled.
I was about to type the sentence “I need to get better at sitting and prayer. About waiting. Just breathing in and out and waiting for the Lord to speak.”
And I felt/heard/ knew in my spirit, “So, why haven’t you?”
…so I stopped.
And I closed my eyes.
And I took a deep breath.
And I prayed what was on my mind, right then.
And then I was silent. And still.
And then I did it again.
It didn’t last for very long.
But it happened.
I don’t need to be able to sit in on a marathon prayer session right now. Baby steps are a fine start. And, hopefully, my stamina and focus will improve.
This week (and the next and probably the next after that) will be a challenge. Not just because I’m having to hold myself in check so I don’t overexert or exhaust myself as I continue to heal. But because I refuse to not talk to the Lord just because my normal conversation starters are unavailable to us.
Instead I will practice the example set by brothers and sisters of faith.
I will sit.
And I will breathe.
I will pray what is on my heart. Or I will run down my list of those I’m praying for. Or I will just be silent, waiting.
Knowing that the Lord will hear the call of my heart, “Speak, Lord, for your child is listening…or at least trying to.”
