4 a.m.
The bed shivered like a scared, stray dog. Only it wasn’t a dog. It was my husband, racked with chills, sick as a dog. I slid my body next to his and wrapped him in warmth.
Finally, the chills subsided, and he slipped into a fitful sleep. Laying there, I thought of our wedding vows: in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do us part.
It isn’t that I was fearful he was dying. Well, not exactly. We are at that age where we go to more funerals than weddings.
1,000 Deaths
But it wasn’t that kind of death I pondered. I was thinking of the thousand little deaths I’ve died in the past week. Because, in and of myself, my druthers (as in “I would rather”) would be to sleep on my side of the bed, on my pillow. Not with my neck contorted, so my husband is comfortable and warm.
I’d rather not take the trash out. I’d rather not constantly refill John’s water glass. I’d rather not strip the sheets and sanitize them when it isn’t laundry day.
But my husband needed me to die to my flesh. He couldn’t take the trash out with a fever over 101 degrees. He needed me to bring him water so he wouldn’t become dehydrated. He was too weak to go back and forth to the fridge. And he needed freshly laundered sheets so he could sleep and rest his sick, hurting body.
“Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking” 1 Corinthians 13:5 (AMP).
Dying to Love
Yes, to love my husband well, I needed to die to my wants and needs. That’s what true love does. It does not make demands of others but seeks to serve them. It does not expect sacrifices from others, but sacrifices for others.
God is love. He sent Jesus to die for us. God sacrificed His Son because He loves us that much. In light of this, shouldn’t I be able to die a thousand tiny deaths to love others well?
How many deaths have you died lately? How have you been the hands and feet of Jesus to someone?
For His Glory,
