Furiously working on a talk for a women’s retreat, I felt a weird sensation on my neck. The retreat was sixteen days away and I would be presenting five messages. This was talk number three. I loved the content: recharging through prayer, recharging by getting away, recharging by silence and stillness. Ahhh.
The next day, after returning from a walk, I noticed a red spot underneath my baseball cap. Thinking it might be staph (going around my son’s football team), I visited the doctor. Shingles was diagnosed. Shingles? I’m not old enough. Evidently I am.
Praying as I drove home from the doctor, it occurred to me that this bout of Shingles was most likely caused by stress and my lagging immune system.
This fall has been crazy. Non-stop. My spiritual cup hath runneth almost empty. The wonderful content I was focusing on for the upcoming retreat had become almost non-existent for me. Ironic. I was barely praying, nor was I being still in God’s presence. Instead, I was running around like a crazy woman. I wasn’t getting enough sleep and had an obnoxiously long “to-do” list.
I am usually intentional in this- remaining balanced and purposeful with my days, saying “no” sometimes, wanting to live deeply instead of wide. But this Fall, I’d let myself get spread too thin and pulled myself wide. So wide that it landed me in Shinglesville.
