Finding Joy in our Afflictions?

The last week of January into the first days of February disaster struck at our house. It started off on a Tuesday. It was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary until, as we were driving home from picking up the boys from school, Claire woke up from a quick nap in her car seat and immediately vomited. She had not been acting sick before, so I concluded that maybe she got overheated and a little carsick. That evening, after spending hours painstakingly cleaning every surface of her seat, I fed her as usual and there were no more episodes of vomiting.

During the early morning hours of Wednesday she had a couple of instances of diarrhea, but seemed otherwise fine. No one else seemed any worse for the wear, so we went about our day as usual, even attending story-time at the library. Fast forward to Friday.
Paul texted me mid-morning from work, complaining that his stomach was very bubbly. He projected that he had caught Claire's virus (she would later come to refer to it as the snug-it bug). We had bean dip with dinner the night before, so I tried to encourage him that it was just gas. He came home early from work and laid in bed in misery. By evening it was quite clear that his predicament was not caused by bean dip. Claire kept him company, crawling all over his upset stomach, cooing to him, "ohhh, kitty kitty cousin. Come here, kitty kitty cousin. It's ok, kitty kitty cousin."
With a stomach virus, you can pretty much assume the whole family is going to fall victim, but I held out hope that it would end with Paul, until the early morning hours on Saturday, when we awoke to the sounds of puke splattering in and around the toilet. It was Nathanael. Bless his heart, he spent several hours dry-heaving into a bucket as he lounged on the couch. It was several days before he ate anything at all.
I spent much of Saturday willing myself not to throw up. By afternoon I could feel myself succumbing to the virus. Finally it hit, and I laid on the bathroom floor, my stomach a bubbling cauldron, for what felt like hours. It was miserable. I didn't want to do it. It was so much worse than childbirth.

On Sunday, Sam was the lone survivor. Paul and Claire were healthy. The three of them went to church while Nathanael and I laid around recovering. 

Early Monday morning, we once again awoke to that familiar sound. It was Sam. It was unavoidable. Luckily, the rest of us had recovered and Sam is an easy patient. Monday was the best day ever. Sam was so patient with his condition. He was so hungry, but he knew he would be better off to take it slow trying to replenish his body. Nathanael was loving and thoughtful to him. They did not fight a single time. The whole day, Sam was grateful for everything. As evening fell, he was already feeling mostly back to normal. As I tucked him into bed, he said to me, "thank you so much for everything today." Though I could have done without the virus, though I'm not one to find purpose in suffering (even suffering as ridiculously mild as was this), though I'd rather not EVER have to clean up vomit again, we needed that time of caring for one another. Trying to make others comfortable or helping them through a difficult time strengthens feelings of empathy and love. Those feelings were visibly enlarged among the kids, for one another during those days and it was SO good to see that. Most days, there is so much quarreling, but when it really counts, they are so compassionate and loving to one another. 

I could happily go the rest of my life without ever having or caring for anyone else who has the stomach virus. But I'm still treasuring those sweet moments from The Snug-It Bug of 2015.