My family had just observed Palm Sunday in the little Baptist church that was the base of my spiritual formation. Easter was a week away. I looked forward to that day and all that it promised for an eight-year-old. But I was unprepared for what lay ahead when I awoke on Monday.
I felt agonizing discomfort in my chest and joints and had difficulty breathing. Usually my parents looked for signs that this was the real deal—that I wasn’t feigning an illness so I could miss a day of school.
Eventually I would experience all the typical childhood diseases that would keep me home on a school day: measles, mumps, chickenpox, whooping cough, and whatever else youngsters at that time were destined to catch. But this instance was different, for my folks heard me struggling for breath and watched me writhing in pain. This time I required medical attention.
- You have reached the end of this article preview. This article was published in the Spring 2023 Baptist Bulletin. Subscribe to the Baptist Bulletin or purchase a gift subscription. If you already subscribe to the print edition, sign up for free digital access.
Following a career in religious journalism, in retirement Jim Cox continues to write for the publications of several faith-based institutions.
