Hear our voice, O Lord, according to your faithful love.
Sick of being sick
Lord, I'm tired of being ill all the time, sick of minor but exhausting ailments and sick of feeling weak after every effort to accomplish, something. I am tired of hearing people say: 'There is always something wrong with …'
True, there is always something wrong with me. Nothing serious, nothing which makes others look at me and sadly think: 'It could happen to me …'. Not even that. What happens to me is of no great consequence. Minor little illnesses which don't scare anyone: a headache here and a cold there; then something wrong with my stomach, and then something else again. Little nothings.
But there is no end to it. And my patience is running out. I'm beginning to dream about another life, a life without illness. A strong and healthy life where I get up fresh and rested every morning, ready to meet everything with a smile. A beautiful life: the product of my imagination.
And then I begin to envy people. The healthy ones. I think it's unjust: their relaxed expression, their fresh complexion, their meals without fears and worries. And that smile they put on when they say to me: 'So, what's wrong with you today?' as if they knew what illness was all about.
Forgive me, Lord, for having been unjust. I know that it isn't altogether my fault. But I was nevertheless angry with them. That's stupid. Teach me, Lord, to understand—that they don't understand.
When I don't feel like doing a thing, give me strength. Strength not to give in, as they say. Strength to try at any rate.
Lord, help me to bear my endless little miseries with some flair.
—Paul Geres. Prayers for impossible days, tr. from French by Lucien Jerphagon. Revised edition. Augsburg Books, 2001.
Setting by Claude Goudimel (16th century) for Psalm 34 of the Genevan Psalter 1551, for organ and recorder consort.
May God our Redeemer show us compassion and love. Amen.