“Chicken or the egg.” That’s my specialist’s best two guesses as to what has given me a very unexpected crash course in severe salmonella infection. It has been a tough and stretching week physically and emotionally, but hopefully I will be home in the next few days. And a sobering thought I will take with me; my specialist’s raw reminder that because of a lack of available treatment, people who live in some of the places my organisation works, would have already died from my level of infection. 

Now, like all of us, I have experienced an unpleasant night after a bad take-out. So, when I came home from Thailand last week I wasn’t overly concerned by how I was feeling. But fast forward 24 hours and I had a new word – “rigors” in my vocabulary. I don’t think I have ever shaken so much, or felt so cold, as my temperature took off. Throw in severe adnominal pain, light headedness, low blood pressure, crazy dreams and the other nasty stuff that comes with these types of illnesses, which no one wants to read about. 

Suddenly I was learning that severe salmonella infection looks quite different to a dodgy curry.  

I am so thankful for the Cabrini team who have looked after me so well over the past week, and a huge shout out to my wife Megan for her wonderful support. My poor health has made her already big load heavier this week, but she just gets on with it and I am so fortunate to do life with her. 

I will never know the specific cause of my infection, but my medical team believe it was most likely from food I ate on my recent trip to the Thai-Myanmar border. Rather than ponder my unfortunate choice of a piece of food loaded with salmonella bacteria, I have been thinking about the amazing and sacrificial hospitality of the Karen communities I visited. Like many communities I visit, local people physically and financially forgo much to show hospitality to people like me. And they do it with such beautiful, warm hearts.

As part of my role, which some of you will relate to in your work, I walk the fine line of showing genuine and culturally appropriate appreciation for hospitality extended to me, while doing my best to stay safe and healthy on the road. My evening nurse “Nonna” Nella, who I posted about yesterday, keeps telling me I will need to be very careful and she’s right, but this dance will never go away. With this tension comes the greater joy of spending time with people who teach me more about community, the table, hospitality and faith than I could ever teach them. 

Speaking of the table, my kids did ask me last night what the first thing was I wanted to eat when I came home. They were suggesting some of my favourites and vicariously hinting at a few of theirs. And yet the reality is, my mind has been thinking more about what I don’t to eat. Thank God I have been released from my “clear liquid diet”.  My specialist tells me no hospital around the world does a CLD well. I will take his word, it’s not something I want to repeat in a hurry!

As I am sure you can all relate to, it’s not a home-cooked meal I am yearning for the most. It’s simply home. I hate unplanned time away from my family. I have enough planned time away in my role and so the last thing I want are unplanned additions, particularly hospital stays. I have had to wrestle with these emotions this week, exacerbated by my environment. 

Given my infection, I have needed to stay in an isolated room this week. Understandably, I haven’t been able to leave my room and only family have been able to visit. The days have been long and I have desperately wanted to go for a walk, one the best therapies for me when I am feeling emotionally low or am away from home. 

This week’s temporary feelings of isolation have reminded me of the beauty and power of connectedness and the social ill that isolation brings too many in our communities. It has helped me this week to stop and pray for others and to get my head out of my context. 

To think and pray for people who live alone and navigate serious health concerns, for elderly people experiencing loneliness, for others in hospital wards, living with terminal health challenges and asylum seekers still locked away in cruel and dehumanising detention. Isolation is a terrible community ill and we can all play a part in bringing stronger connectedness. It’s good for others – it’s good for us! 

Last night there was a story on the TV news about a Melbourne based open-invitation choir. Anyone can join for company and singing. University research has highlighted the significant emotional health benefits the choir is bringing to participants who previously experienced a strong sense of community disconnection.

While I have missed walking this week, I am thankful for a big window, with some lovely views of leafy Malvern. Since I have been able to get out of bed, I have been intentionally standing at the window each day, trying not to trip over my IV lines, and see at what new things I can discover. 

Every day I have been looking at a tall, leaning tree and its branches blowing in the wind. There’s a very noticeable lean and yet the tree seems to be going the distance well. My “leaning tree of Malvern” has reminded me afresh this week that we all live with our physical and emotional scars, our limps, leans, wobbles, and imperfections. And yet deeply rooted, this tree stands strong. Resilience is such an amazing thing. 

I’ve needed to remind myself of my resilient roots again this week. I have needed to tell myself “you will get through today”. I’m thankful for the prayers and messages of others who have reminded me of this, including a lovely video from our Malawi team leader and his Yawo mates wishing me a speedy recovery. I have flicked through pictures from my recent trip and been encouraged by the faces of courageous, inspiring resilient people I met on the border. I have breathed in words of Scripture from the wonderful Lectio 365 and been reminded that I am never alone. 

And each night – through “my” window – there have been beautiful sunsets. 

Nurse Nella has been quick to pull down the curtain each evening as the sun blazes into my room. But I tell her “it’s OK”, I want to see the sunset. To be honest, this week, it has been more like, I need to see the sunset. It’s a lovely distraction when you’re feeling lousy, but each night the colours and artistry of nature have reminded me that one day is ending, and a new day is coming.

This time in hospital will also soon end. This short chapter will end. My pain is easing. My body is slowly repairing. Better days will soon return. Maybe you need this reminder in your life today. This season will end.

Last night looking out the window, as the sun and sky put on a show, I found myself breathing in, and hearing the words of the psalmist echo in my mind and soul. 

As I considered my fragile human frame … “Be still and know that I am God.”

As I considered my beautiful but messy life … “Be still and know that I am God.”

As I thought of all I haven’t been able to do this week, and all that is ahead … “Be still and know that I am God.”

As I thought about all that was beyond my control … “Be still and know that I am God.”

As I considered our bruised and weary world and the bad news we read … “Be still and know that I am God.”

This week I have been thankful anew for the presence of a God of refuge, the God who is with us in the storms of life. The God who calls us to be still, wait and trust!

As the Psalmist wrote: “In the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.” – Psalm 57.1

Aa I stood at the window; I received a beautiful text from a friend who has checked in on me each day since I have been home from Thailand. As the sun set, I am thankful for those that have spoken words of hope and comfort into my life this week, including a lovely video from our Malawi team leader with some of his Yawo mates wishing me a speedy recovery.

We’re blessed by those that come alongside us in life. I’m thankful today for mates, thankful for those that lift me, believe in me, and who bring courage and cheer to my soul. 

It’s been a huge week – but I am alive – I have received world-class medical care within minutes of walking into ED. And tomorrow will come, with the presence of the God of refuge and strength. And this safe, welcoming God is also the wild, untamed God beckons us to trust him in new and unknown places as we learn more about ourselves and serve others with the hope, love, justice, and peace of Jesus. 

I share a few messages with my mate at the window as the darkness sets in. I tell him that Megan and I look forward to having him and his wife over for dinner when I am back on my feet. And I feel the need to tell him – or maybe tell myself  – that it won’t be chicken or the egg on the menu … not just yet!