R. Andrew Douglas

A place for me to write.

I'm sick

I'm in bed. Sick. With the sniffles. 

Our busy life goes on without me. It's dark. Anne's at the barn with the vet. The girls are eating leftovers at the Ranch. Cam's at a volunteer fire department meeting in the village.

I'm alone.

And God is speaking. 

Earlier I sat in a hot tub trying to sweat out the sickness. I read my book. And then I heard His voice, whispering: "Come to me."

I climbed out, dried off, grabbed my Bible, and curled into bed. The dogs took their places... content. I picked up where I'd left off in Mark -- the crucifixion.  

Simon of Cyrene, father of Alexander and Rufus, innocently passing through town, is pulled into service to carry Jesus' cross. Mark mentions his sons as if to say, you know Simon, he's Alexander and Rufus' dad. The readers, Christ followers in dangerous times, know the sons. The father carries a cross and fifty years later when the gospel is written the sons are following Jesus. A stranger pulled out of the crowd and generations are saved. His sons believe. They know the Father's love.

There's more, says the voice: Remember what I said about following me?I flip back the pages. 

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. - Mark 8:34

Instructions for living -- a way to hear the sweet, beautiful voice. A lifetime I'll spend figuring out what it means to carry my cross. And as I do carry the cross, maybe a way to see my children walk in glory too. 

Sick.

In bed.

And the glory is falling.

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