Poison

Complacency is poison.

Last evening about 6:30, I began to notice a little irritation above my eye and behind my ear.  By the time, I realized it was another migraine setting in, it was too late.

This morning, it was still with me.  I hadn’t yet vomited, but I knew that were I to attempt to get to Sunday School, I’d ruin everyone’s day.  So, home I stayed.

Keenly aware that there was to be a reason for my situation, I read and studied and updated my Words With Friends.  Fortunately, the girls, in their cheek, had left two loads of laundry in my room. I folded those.

You know how the prompting and the message comes repeatedly for many days in many ways?

It came again.

Generally speaking, I have a mess on my hands.  I have not done all I could.  There are no excuses. Which is good.  Jesus died for my sin.  Not my rationalizations, justifications, or really good reasons.

While I couldn’t lift my head.  In the first solitude I’ve had since… sheesh, months.

Then they got home. Something was wrong.

Phone call.  Mr. S. yelling at his friend.  He doesn’t yell.

It happened again.  In youth Sunday School.  For six years.  Being patient.  Turning the other cheek.  Always told the problem is ours. More complacency.  Waiting for what.  The next time?

Odd.  I would be listening at home for the voice that would thunder.  In two places at once.

Invisible fangs sink deep into flesh.

Cooling numbness. 

Blurred vision.

Unseen serpent snatched and flung away, slithers back. 

Relentlessly. 

Landing more strikes. 

Claiming more victims.

Would that I could hide. 

Conspicuous. 

Looks different. 

Full of sound. 

Crossing the damned line.

He didn’t call us to hide.  He called us to seek.

Show up harsh against the background of the status quo.

Strike.  By the time we feel the effects, the flesh is rotting, the heart is permanently affected.

Only antivenin…drops of perfect blood.

 

 

Comments

  1. Oh, hate to hear you have migraines…they can be sheer misery.

    I’m guilty of letting complacency take over with me sometimes. I’m terrible about that, “Oh, I’ll deal with it later” or “If I don’t acknowledge it, it will go away.”

    Never does, of course. And by now, you’d think I’d learn.

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