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The Day God Hugged Me

Saturday Soup Opera

By Laura J. Bagby Sr. Producer – What’s the worst thing you can do to an active extrovert? Shut him or her up inside the house alone with no one to talk to and make it difficult for that person to participate in physical activity. That’s sure to cause a tailspinning depression.

A couple of weeks ago, that was me.

I was struggling with a sinus infection that had left my body and my mind fragile and listless. Instead of enjoying great outdoor activities and fun with friends on a beautiful weekend, I was spending endless hours on the couch sleeping, reading, praying, watching TV, and trying not to go crazy.

Being sick meant I had to turn down a friend’s invitation to dinner on Friday, skip dance lessons on Saturday, and hang around the house by myself on Saturday night.

Now, if that had been my sister, Melanie, she probably would have sighed with relief and thought how wonderful it was not to have plans and not to feel guilty for sleeping all day. Growing up, she was the one who didn’t mind being sent to her room when punished because she would simply take that alone time and doodle or dream up ideas for future plays.

Not me. When Mom sent me to my room as a misbehaving child, five minutes alone felt like an eternity. I would open the door and ask at least half a dozen times, “Can I come out now, Mom?” Mostly the reply was, “No, not yet.”

That’s exactly how I felt this particular weekend. It was like I was asking God, Can I come out and play? The answer, based on how my body felt, was a resounding, Not yet. You aren’t well enough. I closed the proverbial door time and time again and moaned on the couch.

By Saturday afternoon, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, so I took myself and my book outside to soak up some rays and try to get over the cough I was developing. The beauty of the day brightened my mood, and despite the fact that I still felt like a prisoner to the house grounds, at least it was a different environment and I could watch the cars go by.

Yet a part of me still felt forgotten, uncared for. Frankly, I was lonely. I needed a tangible demonstration of God’s love—and soon.

Amazingly, one of my good friends, Heather, stopped by the house later that afternoon. I hadn’t asked her to come by. Neither had I prayed that someone would show up. In fact, I had assumed she would be at dance class without me. And yet, here Heather was in my kitchen with two movies and some hot chicken noodle soup for me. What a pleasure to be remembered! My mood instantly lightened.

It is days like this when I remember that God loves me. I have not been forsaken. I have not been forgotten. The God who knows every grain of sand on the beach, every star in the universe, every hair on my head notices when I am in need and He cares.

Sometimes it just takes a human angel to send the message.

"Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:9-11, NIV).

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