Snow Days of the Soul

My friends, ask gladness from God.  Be glad as children, as birds in the sky.  And let man's sin not disturb you in your efforts, do not fear that it will dampen your endeavor and keep it from being fulfilled, do not say, "Sin is strong, impiety is strong, the bad environment is strong, and we are lonely and powerless..." Flee from such despondency, my children!"

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from The Brothers Karamazov

Friday afternoon.  This is the middle of my third day off from work this week, lurking indoors under self-imposed quarantine with a dilatory fever and various other halfhearted versions of the H1N1 symptoms that most of us in Seattle know by heart now.  A miserable Monday and Wednesday at work (yes, I went back to work on Wednesday, to teach a lesson on quotes in essays, be irritable and come home feeling far worse than before), and three quiet days at home, spent mostly on my computer.

Craving human contact, I've composed a few emails, engaged in some IM conversations, read narratives written by my two talented substitutes (trying to link names to the unfortunate quotations and habits relayed), and lingered on Facebook more than is healthy.

On the media front, I've watched half a season of The West Wing online, along with a few rental movies.  I've had several meals consisting only of soup, orange juice, and rice cakes, along with endless cups of tea and Nalgene bottles full of water.  It's all very busy, caring for myself.

It's the end of the quarter at school.  Grades are due in a week, and I dearly hope that most of my students turned in their final essays today.  The days for which I was present were full and fast-paced, taxing and demanding.  I wasn't kind or terribly patient, and neither were my students.  I didn't want to miss this week, but only because there was lots to do, I realize now.  Not because I particularly wanted to be there.

I always think of snow days as God's way of getting lots of people to stop and listen and do something different, all at once, at least here where snow is extraordinary and inconvenient.  These days have been like that, a mandatory slowing down and looking around.  Taking time to tend to things I haven't bothered with in a while, like reflection and reading and prayer for the people I love and serve.

As I finish what I hope will be the last sick day, considering another West Wing episode and what kind of tea to make next, I'm struck by the necessity of rest.  The sabbath was a commandment, a time for worship and community and restoration.  Without it we fall apart and have to stop anyway, eventually.  For a week or so, to wait while we're put back together.

I've been thankful for these three days, thankful for the people who've been teaching for me while I recover sufficiently to reenter society.  And with this perspective, a time apart, I'll be happy to return.