Soaking Up the Son

 I walked into adoration utterly depleted, shaking and almost unable to function.  I had just been to Walgreens to pick up a prescription and found myself disoriented and confused.  When I went to pay for my purchases, I fumbled around trying to extract my credit card and Walgreen's card.  "Take your time, Lady," said the clerk; "I get paid by the hour."  Embarrassed, I wanted to explain that I had just been through a traumatic and physically exhausting week.  No one ever tells you that at 83, it takes longer to recover from unusual stress and physical exertion; your body and mind go into something akin to post traumatic stress syndrome.

My daughter had had emergency surgery with complications in New Orleans.  (Ordinarily these days, I find that just driving into New Orleans through the "wild west" of 18 wheelers and pickup trucks in New Orleans East puts a great deal of stress on me.)  After two days of vomiting, she had been dehydrated but after tests, they decided she needed emergency surgery and as as result, refused to give her any liquid, even in an iv.  Unfortunately, the "emergency" surgery was delayed, delayed, and delayed once again as the surgeon was swamped with emergencies.  No one could tell us when my daughter's surgery would actually take place. For 24 hours, the report was "momenarily," so no liquids.  The more dehydrated she became, the more uncomfortable she was.  From about 6 pm through 8pm, she was on watch for immanent surgery --- and more and more thirsty after two days of vomiting.  In the ER observation room with her, I too was suffering knowing what she was going through.  After awhile, I began to identify with Mary watching Jesus on the cross -- although the comparison may be profane and inappropriate.  

Finally, they agreed to put my daughter in a regular room for the night so she could rest, and give her a re-hydration iv, plus jello until 11 pm, with surgery re-scheduled for the next day.  At 7 am, she was still thirsty as they wheeled her into surgery -- and then there were complications.  

During her 3 day hospital stay, I found myself back and forth between her house, where I had left the water running to prevent broken pipes; the parking garage, where I had to park distances away from the entrance; and an unusally long walking distance between the garage and the West Tower, the furtherest distance in the hospital.  With lung cancer, I found it difficult to walk carrying all the baggage one needs to spend time in the hospital.  After a week, I was physically and mentally exhausted.   By the time I returned to Mississippi after my daughter's recovery, I found it almost impossible to recover my strength and stamina.  

The next day, I debated whether I could actually get to my scheduled adoration hour.  My visit to Walgreens had not gone well at all, but I figured I needed time with Jesus more than anything else. As I sat before the Blessed Sacrament, I found that I was not able even to say the rosary, I was so mentally blank.  "How should I pray?" I asked. "I'm so tired."  

God rarely speaks to me, but this time He did:  not exactly words, but more clear impressions -- which I translated to words in my mind: 

Imagine yourself stretched out on a sandy beach, soaking up the sun.

Immediately, I understood my task;  Relax and soak up the Son.  With that image in mind, I almost fell asleep -- but not quite, as gradually phrases from Scripture began to float through my spirit and mind: 

God is our refuge and our strength, an ever-present help in distress.

God is close to the broken-hearted, and those bowed down in spirit He saves.

When the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will put him to flight.

By the time I left the chapel after an hour, I could feel strength coming back into my legs as well as into my body, mind, and soul.  I've always said that adoration is like a divine radiation treatment; from now on, I'll think of it as "Soaking up the Son."