Christmas Blessings

I'm glad for many things this Christmas.

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I'm glad to be home.
I'm glad to be with family.

And that's probably more than enough to be thankful for.

***

A short story which I must speak of, because it doesn't sit well in my mind and among family only. It deserves to be told, because it needs to be.

The flu caught me off-guard on Wednesday. Or around then. A sorethroat came first, followed by a wheezing cough and an unavoidable sneeze. Before I knew it, I was wasting tissue supplies and spitting phlegm until my eyes were just about to pop out and say 'yo' to my mouth. And my nose, ah my nose. Of course it was red from constant irritation and no matter how much I blew it, it remained stubbornly blocked.

This resulted in a release of a series of thoughts, about how I would sneeze and cough during the upcoming Christmas Cantata on Saturday, and how I would need to wipe my nose with a tissue paper every now and then. I imagined the sound disturbance it would create in the solemn air of Christmas carols. I imagined the perturbed look on the other violinist's face if I succumbed to an incoming sneeze. And after imagining all that nonsense, I prayed. I asked God to give grace and healing, even just for those 3-4 hours on the night of Christmas Eve. And then, following the advice of my mother, I set off to down vitamin C tablets, water and rest.

One's body is hardly usually liable to quick flu recoveries, I would think. At least, not in my case. The mucus would often run for a minimal of three days, before leaving me half-exhausted and sore-eyed, with a bit of blocked ears. However, this time, it was different. Friday night was the worst, rendering me a difficult attempt to fall asleep due to the inability of my nostrils to remain clear. My prayers increased (so did that of those whom were in the knowledge of my condition, I believe). Saturday morning was not much of an improvement, but towards midday, the runny nose suddenly decided not to be runny anymore. And from thereon, healing began taking place.

I was, however, being the sometimes rather ignorant little girl I can be, unaware of this extraordinary feat (at least, it seems extraordinary to myself as I ponder about it now). It was not until right after the Cantata, when all went well, to the glory of God, that I realised God had answered my prayers, and even more so. I couldn't help but rave about it to my mother. Twas' a miracle, I reckoned. I still have that nasally voice and occasional cough with phelgm. But still, a miracle!

This morning, as I rose from my bed, I felt a true gladness stirring within.
Christmas morning. Jesus Christ is born. He is the Saviour. Messiah. Healer. Prince of Peace.

Thank You for a blessing as such.

Merry Christmas, folks!