Our conference finished on Thursday night and we had planned to fly back to Berlin on Saturday so that we had a few more precious hours of Spanish sun. Friday morning, we took a bus back into Malaga from Nerja, the outlying tourist town where the conference had been, and spent the day relaxing near the beach and seeing a bit of the city. That night, a few girls who we met at the conference who live in Malaga took us out for dinner at one of their favorite places in town. I wasn't especially hungry even though it was late by the time we sat down for dinner, but I assumed I was just worn out from a day in the sun after a long week. I didn't think much of it when I couldn't finish my dinner.
After dinner, we walked around a bit marveling at the fact that we could be outside without winter jackets and then landed in a cafe for Spanish hot chocolate (a local special, which is really like a cup of hot chocolate pudding). It tasted good, but I couldn't finish that either. No room left in my stomach, it seemed. While we were sitting there, an older guy came over and struck up a conversation with us, which turned into a good chat about who Jesus is and what He says about Himself. So, as we were leaving, someone suggested that we should stop and pray for this guy before heading back to our hostel.
In the middle of the spontaneous prayer time, I started feeling dizzy, hot and nauseous. I quietly backed away from the group and sat down on a bench to take a few deep breaths. They finished praying a few minutes later, but the nausea still hadn't passed. It was pretty clear at that point that I wasn't going to make it walking back to the hostel, so they decided to put me in a cab with a few of my teammates and send me back that way. Still dizzy, though, I couldn't even make it as far as a cab by myself, so Bryce took my arm and let me lean on him until we got to the car. A bold move, considering that I could have vomited on him at any moment. I made it back to the hostel incident-free, but then proceeded to spend the whole night throwing up. Not a great way to spend a night in a hostel, I must say.
The next morning, I thanked the team for taking care of me. The response from every one of them was caring concern. They were glad to be there for me when I needed them. They didn't mind taking care of me. It was no trouble. They love me.
I wouldn't wish the stomach flu on anyone, especially in a foreign city, but I certainly felt loved and cared for during the whole thing. When I thanked Bryce extra for putting himself at risk of getting vomited on, he smiled, pointed at his chest above his heart and said, "Jesus lives in here, and He loves you, so I was just letting Him show you that." And he's right. God used circumstances I never would have chosen for myself not only to show me that my team loves me, but as a tangible example of how much He loves me Himself.
Before I knew Jesus, I was sick and helpless in my sin. My vision was blurred by the disease--choices I had made had irreparably torn me away from God--and I couldn't stand up and walk Home to Him on my own. Seeing my condition and having compassion on me, Jesus came and picked me up to carry me back to His father. A bold move, because I could have vomited on him at any moment, and surely have done so many times, metaphorically speaking. He took care of me and healed me. Brought me to life. But my vision still gets blurry every now and then. I get tired. I forget the way. I get dizzy and start to fall. So He keeps letting me lean on Him and walking me home step by step.
"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." [Romans 5:8]
I praise God that He did.