During a short phone conversation yesterday, my mother happened to mention that our youngest family member, the Little Larissa, has a cold.
Two hours later, not thirty minutes after joking with someone about my excessive and routine consumption of vitamin C, and the resulting state of good health that I have been blessed with, I felt a faint tickle in my throat.
Twenty-four hours later, my throat is still scratchy, my nose is getting sniffly, and my head hurts a bit. But the head thing might be because it’s almost 1am. Again.
But really though, I’m not suffering. There are people much, much sicker, much more hopeless, much more miserable all across the globe. A slight cold contracted from sharing a bed with a baby sister is a mild concern compared to the hurt, the broken, the dying that is everywhere in this hurt, broken, dying world.
Talking with one of my Africa teammates tonight, he told me he would “go to the prayer closet for that cold”. I believe him and I very much appreciate both his compassion and his prayers. And his words served as a reminder to me. A reminder to go to the prayer closet. Because there’s so much to pray for.
So much that needs the touch of God. So many people desperate for His love, His grace, Him. Yes, go to the prayer closet tonight. And go there for them.