In Sickness and in Chaos

I had plans. Good plans. I had been looking forward to the weekend all week—Jason and I were going to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather, escape to the mountains, and enjoy some much-needed quality time together. It was going to be perfect.

Instead, I woke up on Saturday morning feeling like I had been hit by a freight train. The flu had officially claimed me as its latest victim, and just like that, my weekend plans were tossed out the window.

In an effort to keep Jason from catching whatever plague had taken me down, I quarantined myself in our bedroom. But despite my best efforts, by Monday, he was sick too. And just when we thought the week couldn’t take any more unexpected turns, Wednesday night rolled around, and Jason was in a car accident. A minor one, thankfully—but the kind that leaves you holding your breath, waiting to find out if the damage will total the car or just be another frustrating inconvenience.

A Different Kind of Togetherness

This week has been exhausting—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Missing the weekend I had so carefully planned was disappointing, skipping my favorite night of the week (choir practice) stung, and the uncertainty of what would happen with our car was just another stressor piled onto an already overwhelming few days.

But in the middle of the chaos, something small and unexpected happened—something that, if I weren’t paying attention, I might have missed.

By Tuesday, we were running low on the essentials. Medicine, tissues, all the little things you don’t think about until you’re both sick and realizing neither of you is in any shape to function like a proper adult. I offered to go out and grab what we needed, but Jason, running on antihistamines and sheer determination, suggested we go together.

Now, let me paint this picture for you: two sick, exhausted people, dragging themselves through the grocery store like zombies, barely upright but somehow still holding onto each other. Jason pushed the cart while I shuffled beside him, both of us sniffling and coughing like we were the store’s official flu ambassadors. We grabbed what we needed—medicine, tissues, Gatorade—but somewhere between the cold medicine aisle and the checkout line, I realized something...

We hardly ever do this anymore.

Somewhere along the way, errands became a solo mission—one of us dashing out to pick up something the other forgot, or one of us too tired to make the trip, so the other took it on. But here we were, sick as could be, but together. And for a moment, I got a glimpse of the weekend I had wanted. It wasn’t a grand adventure in the mountains. There was no scenic drive, no picturesque picnic, no perfect Instagram moment. But there was us. Side by side, taking care of each other. And somehow, in that tiny, ordinary moment, it felt even more meaningful than what I had planned.

I don’t often long for children. A long time ago, I made peace with the fact that they may not be in the cards for us. But sometimes, in a world that often defines family by the presence of little voices and tiny hands, I feel like Jason and I get overlooked.

Yet on that Tuesday night, walking through the store with my husband—both of us exhausted, both of us sick, but both of us making sure the other was okay—I realized something... We are a family.

It doesn’t take children to create that sacred space of love, care, and belonging. It’s in the small things—the way he made sure I had what I needed, the way I reached for his hand even though both of us probably should have been wearing hazmat suits. It’s in the way we show up for each other, even when we’re running on empty.

And in that moment, I didn’t feel left out of anything. I felt whole.

Lessons in Letting Go

If this week has taught me anything, it’s that plans are fragile. You can map out your perfect weekend, but life has a way of throwing in detours, unexpected sicknesses, and even car accidents. And if you aren’t willing to be flexible, you’re in for an even rougher ride.

It also reminded me how easy it is to let disruptions steal our time with God. In the middle of the chaos, I managed to carve out a few moments to prayer journal, but it was hard. If we aren’t intentional, days without time in His presence can turn into weeks, then months. And before we know it, we’re wondering why we feel so distant from Him.

So yes, I wish I hadn’t caught the flu. I wish I hadn’t let myself get so upset over missing our weekend plans. But I also see how God was present in all of it. In the quiet moments of prayer. In the laughter with my cousin after dealing with insurance. And in that simple walk through the grocery store, where I was reminded that love—real, steady, through-sickness-and-health love—isn’t about the big moments. It’s in the everyday ones.

Because at the end of the day, our plans will shift. But God? He never does.

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” – Proverbs 16:9