I can count on one hand the number of Sunday services I have missed since I became a Christian some 20 years ago. There’s nothing I regret more than when circumstances keep me away from the assembly. That being said, I appreciate everyone’s kind words, thoughts, and prayers. My voice is at about 85%, a little gravelly but not what it was. It had gone from a rugged, Clint Eastwood kind of “aggressive whisper” to a pathetic “90 year old meemaw on her deathbed” to, now, “50 year old man who’s been smoking for 35 of them.”
I should be good to go to teach class Wednesday and to preach on Sunday, and I owe it all to three things: (1) The home-nursing skills of my wife, (2) a lot of cherry lozenges, and (3) this text…
Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the LORD will deliver him in time of trouble. The LORD will preserve him, and keep him alive; and he shall be blessed upon the earth: and thou wilt not deliver him unto the will of his enemies. The LORD will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.
This is David’s prayer of praise for the God who does not give up on His people, whether they are poor, in trouble, near death, threatened by enemies, or on his sickbed, languishing in agony.
Now you might be thinking: “Matthew, goodness, it was just a sinus infection and laryngitis; you were hardly at death’s door.” And you would be right, but I would counter by saying: “I am a colossal baby.”
And the Lord takes care of us, too.