From the Palace to the Pit!

As Charles Dickens famously wrote in Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." God has such a sense of humor--even if we sometimes fail to pick up on it right away! After yesterday's high of Richard winning the Southern Conference Golf Championship, the rest of us threw a bunch of clothes hurriedly into bags (our usual organized packing job where we take far too much of the useless and forget things like underwear and shorts) and drove down for a few days at Pine Needles for a short spring break.

For the moment we'll ignore the fact that the original hope for spring break was a fabulous Disney World trip with two great families we really enjoy. Then we set our sights a bit lower to 3 nights in Hilton Head--still pretty spectacular. Then it was down to a couple of nights in Pine Needles down in Southern Pines (still a really nice place--just not the warm tropical breezes or Florida sunshine Janie was contemplating!). I joked with friends that at the rate we were going, we'd end up settling on spring break in Fuquay-Varina (also, I'm sure a very nice place).

But, low and behold, after the mad dash to pack up 5 of us in 15 minutes or so, we made it Pine Needles last night. It is truly lovely here, and after a good dinner, my husband took Janie and Preyer to a movie, while my ten year old, Peter, and I came back to the room for showers, reading and bed. Bliss! We even went to the putting green before bed so he could put for a few minutes before lights out.

I should have grown suspicious when instead of putting on the pristine green, Peter lay down and said his stomach hurt. No problem, I thought, just exhaustion and "a bit of undigested beef" (to borrow another phrase from Dickens). We came back to the room, and after Peter took a nice long hot shower, we prayed, and he hit the sack. I settled joyfully into the soft plush comforter with my book, reading and contemplating the goodness of life.

And then... isn't that always how the unexpected suddenly breaks into our comfortable worlds?... Peter bolted upright in bed. I looked over at him just in time to see him start throwing up. All over the bed. And the plush comforter. And the lovely pillows.

I tried to rush him to the bathroom. And he threw up all the way there. On the rug beside the bed. On the rug outside the bathroom. On the bathroom floor. And maybe even some in the toilet as well.

Mercy, need I elaborate? I think not lest you lose your appetite. Suffice it to say, it was about the worst, disastrous stomach bug mess I have ever personally witnessed or dealt with. And here I was at a hotel, with nary a can of lysol spray or roll of paper towels nearby. I texted my husband the dire news, and his response was "I think we need to drive back to Raleigh tonight. I'm not too tired to drive." I was thinking this might not go over really well with the children.

So, I told myself to buck up and start trying to figure out a way to clean up this toxic waste site. I called the desk and they sent me extra towels, sheets, and an old bottle of some kind of strangely scented odor spray. I tried (pretty futilely) to clean up the mess and put a huge pile of very yucky towels and sheets outside our door. I'm sure the other folks down the hall were gratified, but what else could I do? Then I sprayed the daylights out of that industrial strength odor spray. It seemed to have little effect, and so, hoping it was not on some list of carcinogens, I continued to spray and spray every surface of the room. Finally, the offending smell was at least momentarily offset by the industrial mystery scent.

After stripping the bed and remaking it, Peter and I settled back down to bed, though I was no longer so blissfully relaxed but on guard for the next assault.

And it came again. Bless his heart, Peter continue to get sick throughout the night. Preyer and Janie were upstairs in the loft and kept calling down "Peter how are you feeling?" (not too good). "Peter, make sure you run to the toilet as soon as you start to feel sick!" (not too good at that either, poor thing). Richard and I spent the night helping Peter, cleaning up the mess, and washing our hands. At one point, you just had to laugh: I had earlier texted to Richard while he was still at the movie: "We're having some fun now!" (for those of you too young--Steve Martin in Saturday Night Live). It got increasingly less funny as the long night wore on.

But somehow, we survived. Sweet Peter, who never complained, finally fell asleep and woke the next morning feeling much better. We were all bleary eyed this morning, but still glad to be here and looking forward to a far better day than our long night. The room still doesn't smell too great, but when you've been through a war, there are always some scars.

And so, God has reminded us of the truth that after a great victory there is always a battle. After the palace, we will be tested with a prison. And He is just as faithful and great and glorious in those deep pits in our lives as He is on the beautiful mountaintops. He works to teach us and shape us through all the ups and downs and ins and outs of our lives, and His sometimes mysterious ways are always prompted by His love and grace. We can trust Him in the great victories. And we can trust Him in the stomach bugs. All things considered, I sure prefer the victories! But the One who knows all things, well, He knows we need the pits to grow into the people He's called us to be--for our greater good and His greater glory.

So, Lord thank You for the victories and for the stomach bugs and for all the ways You use them in our lives. And to You be the glory forever!