Stung!

     Sun shining, birds chirping, bible open, heart at rest.  Another beautiful morning bright with possibilities.  All was well.  Or so it seemed.
     It started with an itch.  A small itch on my right foot.  Too small to even be consciously registered, but my subconscious was quick to act.  My left foot swiftly brushed the source of my discomfort and in-so-doing burrowed its perpetrator into my veins.  And it hurt... a lot.  Looking down, I realized what I'd done.  A wasp.  I'd been stung.... and I'm allergic.  Great.
     I'd been stung by the Honduran version of a "wasp" here before, and nothing much happened aside from a swollen bite and some lasting discomfort.  Needless to say, I forgot about it soon enough.  I even let the pain of the sting motivate my morning run.  No pain, no gain!  Let the sting push me onward!  Bad idea?  Yeah, I'd say so.
     If I had allowed logic to lead me (or even the morning heart prompting that whispered "No run today"--something I clearly ignored...),  I would have taken it easy.  Instead, I elevated my already-in-overdrive heart rate with my obnoxious obsession to compete with my own shadow.  About 20 minutes in, I noticed my lips were starting to feel a little tingly.  That's odd... My chin was becoming numb.  Huh, that's weird... 30 minutes in, Man, my head itches! Maybe I should take some Benadryl.  Thankfully, some logic was setting in (however minimal).  I scoured our cabin for meds.  None.  The medicine cabinet at the house.  Nada.  Went to the Bells' home.  Zip.  Alright, maybe I should go to the clinic right next door.  Went to get Jessica to accompany me.  Told her I was a little uncomfortable and concerned about a potential allergy.  She noticed my arms.  Oh, that's not good.  Hellooooo rash!  The madness had begun.
     Clinic, closed.  Pain, increasing.  Not good, not good.  The Micah cook came out and verbalized my fears as she nervously gasped, "What happened to you!?"  Ahhh, yes, my face.  A swollen marshmallow-like rose garden perhaps?  Yes.  Well, at least I won't be as cat-called as normal today.
     Thanks to other staff members who were more in their right mind than I was at the time, they pushed me into the Micah van, prayed over me (their anxiety was increasing as they watched my bronzed skin flame into red sweltering bumps), and sent me on my way--traffic and all--to the nearest (relative) emergency room.  By the time I'd arrived, I was already pretty faint and my throat had begun swelling shut.  Not good, not good.  But I was at peace, somehow.  Gift of God?  Had to be.
     I threw myself down on the nearest hospital bed and was quickly surrounded by a flood of nervous-looking doctors and nurses.  Well that's reassuring.  "This is for the allergy," one of them told me and put a pill in my hand.  "This is for the allergy," another said and slipped me an IV.  "This is for the allergy," yet another said, pulling out my favorite: a butt shot.  "This is for your stomach," the IV nurse attached a second bag of liquid.  My stomach? Ah well, who was I to argue?  "This is for your pain," another said.  Okay, this is starting to feel a little overkill.  Needless to say, they attended to me.  By the third IV bag of saline, I knew I was racking up a hefty bill with, in my humble opinion, some rather unnecessary precautions.  Want some proof?  They brought in the head doctor to tell me in English all the things they'd already told me in Spanish.  Just a few things.  All things I had already understood.  They charged me 100 buckeroos for that two minute chatter.  Cool.  
     "Has this ever happened to you before?" the English speaking cranky man asked me.
     "Yes, fourth grade," I answered him (in Spanish).
     "And how many nights did you stay over in the ICU?"
     Nights! Ha! You've got to be kidding me... "Uhhh, none? They just gave me the shot and I was good to go."  Wish they'd let me out of here now, too...    Cranky man left.  Nice nurses stayed around a bit.  They came in and out, every time asking me if I wanted the TV on.  Nope, the answer is still no.  The peace and quiet of the room to myself was actually refreshing.  My whole life here feels like a freaking soap opera--no need to watch one.
    An hour goes by... two... three... Breathing, fine.  Skin, fine.  Mental state, relative.  Four... Five... Err.... Am I ever getting out of here? I made myself known every time they came in to change out IV bags, "Are you sure I need that?  Are you SURE?"      "Yes."
     Okay, well, I'm alive.  So... that's good.
     After about 7 hours, they finally said I could go and handed me a prescription for ten days of two different types of drugs to help with "the allergy."  (I didn't get them).  And then came my favorite: the bill.  In the flurry of the morning's activity, I was not in any state to worry about grabbing cash or card.  Thankfully, the wonderful woman who drove me grabbed some Micah money and covered the mystery expenses.  At my insistence she finally admitted to me the cost.  6500 limps ($350).  Okay, okay, a lot more than necessary but this is my life we're talking about.  I should be grateful.  I should be grateful.
    I wasn't very grateful.  Racking up the unnecessary charges in my mind and thinking about how I would pay for the day's adventure, my mind quickly shifted from the gift to the cost.  Considering what I was paying for, it wasn't even that much.  And it's not like I didn't have it, I just didn't want to spend it.  I had just been given my life back, and I had already become a stingy calculator.  But I realized that, and I stopped.  Wait a second, brain, you are freaking out.  The work of God is to trust in him.  Are you doing that?  No.  So shut up!     And right then, in the split second of mental silence, came a very distinct whisper whose voice I know well, "Your life cost much more than that."
     If my own self talk didn't shut me up, that certainly did.  I knew the Lord had spoken to me, and he was right (as usual).  Three-hundred and fifty dollars?  I could pay that back.  But the price God paid for my life--the life of his own Son?  That is a debt I will never be able to make up, and he knew it when he foot the bill.  God paid the price for my life.  He decided I was worth it.  And he paid. Because of him, I am alive.  Forever.
     You see, a wasp's sting is one thing, but death's sting is a whole different ball game.  Sin's venom is far more deadly, and its poison I willingly burrowed into my own veins.  The consequence was lethal, but thanks be to Jesus Christ and his pure blood, shed for me, I have been given the ultimate transfusion.  His blood runs through my veins, and because of that marvelous gift, I belong to him. Forever.