It was a Christmas like no other Christmas we’ve had in at least 35 years.

Normally our house would be thrumming with preparations for the holidays: baking, decorating, Christmas cards, rehearsing music, getting the guest rooms ready.

But this year I had scheduled a surgery to fuse three of my cervical vertebrae.

Nov. 29th.

Okay, I thought, it’s only a little over three weeks until Christmas, but I’m sure I’ll be up and running, purring like a fine-tuned motor.

I had a stack of books, projects, and music sitting by my couch, waiting for my attention.

My plan was to, as they say, “hit the ground running,” when January arrived.

I’m strong and energetic. A personality that loves to say “yes.” A mind that loves to think and plan and analyze.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, if you have a mind that considers the sovereignty of God—I got none of these things done.

None.

My brain was both blessed and hijacked by the power of prescribed narcotics, designed to soothe even the most intense after-surgery pain.

Thank the Lord for modern pain meds. Thank the Lord!

But I’m looking forward to the day I don’t need them anymore.

I’ll bet y’all have been there, too.

The one thing I’ve been able to do for the past four or five weeks is scan Facebook and read and respond to other Facebook-ers requests for prayer.

I know many of you all have been faithful to pray for me, and I, in turn, have been faithful to pray for you.

Sometimes that’s the only ministry left to us during a period of illness.

And it’s no little thing.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (2 Cor.1:3-4 NIV Bible)