Dealing with a Cold

Today is the First Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the liturgical year and the start of the period of waiting for Christ’s birth. And I am celebrating this period of joyous and penitential preparation for Christ's birth by lying in bed and moaning.

For I was recently given the glorious gift of a nasty cold over the weekend. From a physical standpoint, it hasn’t exactly been a weekend to be proud of. (When you haven’t eaten anything since Friday and still are throwing up water and apple juice, that is NOT a good sign.) And I have done absolutely nothing of substance over the past couple days (except maybe catch up on sleep).

For the record, I hate being sick with a fiery passion - especially on weekends when I have things to do AND people to see. And I loathe playing the role of “Typhoid Paulie,” and have next to no tolerance for pain and illness. 

But what is sobering is not the fact that I am ill, but that I am such a wimp about bearing with illness and pain of any type. Other people suffer from illnesses and injuries far worse than mine. Yet they bear these crosses with forbearance. As for me – well, my roommates can attest to my almost continuous whining this weekend. 

But the point of crosses is not to make others suffer through them, but to bear them patiently. I was exhorted by a friend to “offer up my cross of germs.” And so I will attempt to do, however badly.

God grant me a humble spirit and a mouth that doesn’t complain every five seconds over my aches and queasy insides.