Through the Wringer
At the end of March, I came down with a deep cough, persistent fever, and body aches that left me in pain most of the time, especially when taking a deep breath.
News media was saturated with the Covid-19 pandemic sweeping the globe, killing tens of thousands and leaving hospitals short on supplies, including ventilators. The more articles I consumed while trying to make sense of my symptoms, the more the drowning sensation in my chest spread to my emotions and spirit.
A week and a half after my symptoms began, I was hospitalized overnight and my fears were confirmed: I had come down with the dreaded coronavirus.
As I lay in that hospital bed, my very first instinct was not to pray. It was to share the news with worried friends and family. Thankfully, their first instinct did not mirror my own.
Instead, they rallied the troops, sending prayer requests on my behalf over social media and prayer chains all over the world.
A Flood of Prayers
The past three weeks have been a blur of night sweats, coughing fits, and fatigue. Just this morning, my mom remarked that I had been through the wringer, an apt metaphor for my journey over the past month.
The wringer washing machines of the mid and early 20th century worked by soaking clothes in soapy water, mixing them up with something called an agitator, then squeezing the soap and water out through the wringer. However, the clothes would not come out clean until rinsed in fresh water!
Likewise, the prayers of the saints washed over my thirsty soul, lifting my cares before the Father when I was too weak to pray myself.
I know many loved ones felt helpless, especially when I was hospitalized and unable to receive visitors. However, the outpouring of their prayers on my behalf helped more than anything, strengthening and healing my spirit.
My small group has been studying Psalm 18; David’s prayers have become my own as I continue to recover:
I called on the Lord, who is worthy of praise, and he saved me from my enemies. The ropes of death entangled me; floods of destruction swept over me. The grave wrapped its ropes around me; death laid a trap in my path. But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes, I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from his sanctuary; my cry to him reached his ears. He reached down from heaven and rescued me; he drew me out of deep waters. He led me to a place of safety; he rescued me because he delights in me. – Psalm 18:3-6,16,19 NLT
Candice Lee Brown writes from the mile high city of Denver, CO. When she’s not writing or teaching preschoolers, she’s mentoring addicts and alcoholics through Celebrate Recovery. She’s a regular contributor to Reel World Theology ezine and is editing her first novel.