(Kinsey Thurlow) I’m on my seventh day of bed rest as I write this. Did you know that you could seriously injure a rib, perhaps even crack a bone or tear a muscle … from coughing? Not to scare you. I’ve had plenty of colds and viruses over nearly 33 years of life, but this has never happened. So I think it’s a pretty rare thing. But truth be told, it’s had its excruciating moments.
So I know you’re wondering what one does for seven days in bed, right? I wish I could tell you, but really, I don’t even know where the time went. Over the first few days, the mix of pain and pain meds was so nauseating I couldn’t read or write. So mostly I think I had a week of just staring at the ceiling, lost in thought and aiming to pray. But I’m not here to tell you a sad story about a hurt rib.
What I want to tell you is that in all of that “thinking time” I got, there was one thought that was the loudest and clearest and most repetitive. It was not a new thought. In fact, it was a thought that is more or less shrouded in familiarity. One I’ve heard so, so many times from Scripture and sermons and church small-group conversations. But as the thought has been stirring in my heart for the last few months, (and as I lay on my bed icing my ribs as though it were my full-time job—because that week, it was), it has shed its familiarity. CONTINUE