As it turns out, sleep is actually necessary for an appropriate level of functionality.
Who knew.
I was only zonked out for maybe 4 hours last night. But that was interrupted sleep with a very long period of non-sleep in the middle. I struggled today.
Last night I went to sleep before midnight and dreamed crazy dreams. I briefly woke up to turn over after a particularly strange dream. Turning my head, I could feel something...strange. Warm stuff was coming out of my nose! Jumping up, I ran into the bathroom next door and discovered that blood was gushing from my face. It was almost surreal. Standing there, all I could think was, "This never happens to me!"
I've helped plenty of people staunch the flow of a bloody nose, but I've never really thought about it for myself. In fact, the last time I can remember such a river of precious bodily fluids draining from my own face was when I was four years old.
My little sister and I were twirling around in the living room pretending to be ballerinas. Arms out-stretched, we spun in circles to make our skirts catch the air and become full. Dizzy and happy we continued to dance faster and faster until one ill-fated turn sent my sister's hand colliding with full force into my nose. My face immediately irrupted into volcano of blood.
Shocked by the unexpected pain, I contorted my little body into a position meant to avoid bleeding all over my clothes. Bent at the waist, my face was turned ground-ward with one hand clamped to my nose and the other stretched out for balance. In this manner I blindly hobbled around the house like a child zombie, yelling for my mom to come help me as large drops of blood dripped in my wake.
But I couldn't find her.
I anxiously searched for Mom, screaming her name with increased urgency as I roved each room of the house and then somehow made it outside. She finally found me on the driveway. I had removed the hand from my face and discovered a trailing blob of bloody slime coming from my nostril. This freaked me out worse than just bleeding and my cries become quite panicked as I stumbled around screaming about a "bloody booger" attacking my face.
Mom took care of me, though, and soon the mighty river of blood was staunched.
Last night I didn't have a Mom to take care of me. It was 2:30 in the morning and I didn't want to wake anyone to apply a cold compress to the back of my neck or pet my hair as I tried to control my adrenaline-junkie of a heart. I merely waited for the blood to stop. I waited for my body to do what I know it is meant to do -- to clot and heal the busted blood vessel.
The human body is amazing. The healing process never ceases to cause wonder and adoration in my heart. We are made to be healed.
I've been thinking about this all day.
On our bodies is written a personal Book of Life. Everything that happens to us also happens to our bodies, and it keeps a record. I have several scars on my body from accidents, surgeries, and sheer stupidity. But no matter the cause, they have all healed over and most can barely be seen.
What a beautiful gift we all have to heal the natural consequences associated with residing in a mortal tabernacle of flesh.
What a beautiful reminder that through the blood of Jesus Christ we can be healed from wounds to our immortal souls.
While repentance can hurt a lot at first, the scars heal and are usually forgotten over time as though the wound never existed.
Who knew.
I was only zonked out for maybe 4 hours last night. But that was interrupted sleep with a very long period of non-sleep in the middle. I struggled today.
I've helped plenty of people staunch the flow of a bloody nose, but I've never really thought about it for myself. In fact, the last time I can remember such a river of precious bodily fluids draining from my own face was when I was four years old.
My little sister and I were twirling around in the living room pretending to be ballerinas. Arms out-stretched, we spun in circles to make our skirts catch the air and become full. Dizzy and happy we continued to dance faster and faster until one ill-fated turn sent my sister's hand colliding with full force into my nose. My face immediately irrupted into volcano of blood.
Shocked by the unexpected pain, I contorted my little body into a position meant to avoid bleeding all over my clothes. Bent at the waist, my face was turned ground-ward with one hand clamped to my nose and the other stretched out for balance. In this manner I blindly hobbled around the house like a child zombie, yelling for my mom to come help me as large drops of blood dripped in my wake.
But I couldn't find her.
I anxiously searched for Mom, screaming her name with increased urgency as I roved each room of the house and then somehow made it outside. She finally found me on the driveway. I had removed the hand from my face and discovered a trailing blob of bloody slime coming from my nostril. This freaked me out worse than just bleeding and my cries become quite panicked as I stumbled around screaming about a "bloody booger" attacking my face.
Mom took care of me, though, and soon the mighty river of blood was staunched.
Last night I didn't have a Mom to take care of me. It was 2:30 in the morning and I didn't want to wake anyone to apply a cold compress to the back of my neck or pet my hair as I tried to control my adrenaline-junkie of a heart. I merely waited for the blood to stop. I waited for my body to do what I know it is meant to do -- to clot and heal the busted blood vessel.
The human body is amazing. The healing process never ceases to cause wonder and adoration in my heart. We are made to be healed.
I've been thinking about this all day.
On our bodies is written a personal Book of Life. Everything that happens to us also happens to our bodies, and it keeps a record. I have several scars on my body from accidents, surgeries, and sheer stupidity. But no matter the cause, they have all healed over and most can barely be seen.
What a beautiful gift we all have to heal the natural consequences associated with residing in a mortal tabernacle of flesh.
What a beautiful reminder that through the blood of Jesus Christ we can be healed from wounds to our immortal souls.
While repentance can hurt a lot at first, the scars heal and are usually forgotten over time as though the wound never existed.
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