Jesus, my monologue

Last week I traveled to the Valley.  In Texas, that’s the southernmost portion of the Texas/Mexico border.  There God gave a particular blessing that's continued to amaze me.  Never had I experienced Him in quite this way.  The trip began with a sore throat, a runny nose, and nasal congestion—a common trio in our neck of the woods.  Coughing came, and soon I could hardly breathe without a rattle in my chest.  Ability to sleep was minimal.  By our fifth day when my theatre group had its 3 final performances, the rattle had become a rumble.  I managed to stand but very weak of energy.  All those waking hours through the night, I asked the Lord to cover and protect my body, to provide, to sustain, to prevent me from coughing.  For me to cough once would likely set in motion a whole chain of coughs and certainly a disruption to our theatre story.  I asked the Lord, “How will this work?  How will I perform this monologue?”  Quite possibly this portion could feel a lifetime beyond its actual 7 minutes.  And then it was showtime.  Turning the corner on the backdrop, I entered center stage and saw the children.  Finishing the rhythm-and-rhyme section, I could feel a cough approaching.  Yet it passed.  The next sentence, it returned.  Then it passed again.  The fluctuation I knew was the Lord preventing me to cough, and all the while my heart leaped in amazement to realize this effectual tug-of-war over my throat.  Next came the singing section.  The upper note felt a bit muffled, but I noticed no stir in the audience and still no cough.  The raging battle was coming to quell.  Such a physical experience with the Lord I’d not had before, not in this 1-on-1 way.  And amazingly the monologue finished without incident.  The Lord won.  A testament to how He answers prayer and compels His will to completion.  Just as He breathed life into Adam in Genesis 2, so He was my breath this day.  Back home, a doctor diagnosed me with acute bronchitis, and as I stared at my antibiotic and steroid, I relived my monologue.  I remembered the question “How will this work?”  In this case, the answer didn’t reveal until I stepped out into the open.  The Lord supplied my air.  He kept my airway open.  He was my monologue.