I’m not sick. I’m saying I’m not sick because, well, I’m not, and also because I never admit when I am actually sick. You following me? I think admitting I’m sick is succumbing to weakness. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Here, evil virus, have my body!” Nope. Not today. Not me. I ain’t sick.
If you could see me sitting here, loaded up with antihistamines, pseudoephedrines and probably lots of other -ines, you might not believe me. If you saw my red eyes, heard my sniffles or caught me sneaking a Ricola to soothe my itchy throat, you might call me a liar. But I’m just not sick, so I don’t really care what you call me. As long as it’s not, you know, sick.
Am I sounding crazy? Blame it on all those -ines. Really, though, I’m not crazy. I know I’m probably sick or, as I prefer to say, have some pretty bad allergies. (Those allergies’ll getcha!) I just prefer to live as though I’m not sick. I’m not going to be sick forever, after all. And it doesn’t make me feel any better to whine about it.
I’ve been reading through Romans (it’s my favorite) this week, and Paul’s letter kind of reminds me of my sickness. Here’s the thing: I’m a sinner. I sin, like, every day. It’d be super easy to get caught up in my sin, to stay in bed and be mopey. But God says I’m dead to sin now. He’s says that, in Jesus, I’m alive to Him. I don’t have time to live for my sin anymore!
So, instead of whining, I just drug myself up on forgiveness, mercy and grace. My sinful equivalent of a runny nose can’t keep me down when I’m drinking Truth by the capful. And just like my bad allergies (you know what I mean), my sin’s not going to last forever, so why let it keep me down?
And, really, Truth is way better than NyQuil.