Well, I'm still sitting.
After three days back at work juggling papers, entering grades to make sure my kids' report cards would get out on time, trying to get caught up on anything else that had lapsed in my almost-four-week absence, I finally got around to calling the district's benefits department to ask about my short-term disability payments. (Yes, I know I should have done this much earlier, but that's another epistle entirely.)
"Are you in a weight-bearing cast or a walking boot?"
"No, but I'm in a wheelchair, so I'm okay."
It seems I wasn't. Our school district gives new meaning to the phrase "stand on your own two feet." It appears that that unless I can do that, I am not fully able to teach my children, and that means I must stay home until I can. (Stand on my own two feet, that is.) Thus, I have once again become one with the couch and shall remain so for at least the next three weeks.
While this frustrates me to no end -- as I feel it is my kids who will end up "sitting on the sidelines" right with me; there's no way around it, a guest teacher can't do what I do -- it gives me more time to practice my sitting, and as you may have gathered from my previous writing, I haven't done it all that well so far.
I admit to having a few moments of intense feeling sorry for myself (please don't ask St. Michael to elaborate -- there is that idea of spousal privilege, y'know), I have decided to choose to look at this as the gift I know it is: I am being given another chance to maybe get this sitting thing right.
So if you see me, hold me accountable and ask me how my sitting is going. Am I sitting and stewing (like something on the verge of boiling over)? Sitting and sour-ing (like a nasty old kitchen sponge)? Or am I spending my day sitting and soaking up the Son (like the Kingdom citizen that I truly am in my innermost being)?
Yup, you'd better ask me. I need to know you will.