Since my miraculous 'recovery', my week has consisted of the following:
Cleaning house like a madwoman. Mad, as in, obsessed.
Errand running and shopping.
Attending worship for the first time in six weeks.
Traveling to Crystal River to see my parents.
Designing a new master bedroom suite.
Moving furniture and packing/unpacking closets to prepare for demolition of said new master suite.
Volunteering two hours at church to fold bulletins.
Purging hand me downs and packing eight huge garbage bags for the thrift store.
Enduring the NBA conference finals (trust me, this is most definitely an endurance test if you are married to my husband).
Buying groceries for our church food pantry.
Trying to eliminate the inches of drywall dust that cover every inch of our house due to the remodeling project.
Building a pirate ship.
It is important for me to note all of these things I have done in the past week, because I kinda made a bet with God.
When I thought I was going to die, even if it were at my own hands, I promised God I would never take another day for granted. That my idea of feeling 'okay', would someday mean I was feeling 'great'. If HE would just make me better than I was.
And I am keeping my promise.
We had a bet, after all.
When I was at church the other day, folding away, Pastor C. saw me and had a huge smile on her face.
She said, "Heather! You are back! It's like you have risen from the dead!"
Just call me Lazarus.