Tuesday night into Wednesday, my house went unheated. There was apparently some kind of leaking water onto the controls and it just needed to be cleaned up and reset (once the pipes were fixed of course).
I complained. a lot. I got home from studying at a nice warm cafe on Tuesday, highly caffeinated, and ready for a good few hours of studying yet, and I walked into a 65 degree house. 65 isn't bad. But four hours later, when it had lowered to 57 and I was still awake, you may have thought the world was ending if you had had a chance to talk to me.
I woke up after four shivering hours of sleep, still colder. I was at the verge of peeing the bed because I had put off getting out from under the covers into the cold, and all the coffee had settled in my bladder. I found relief in a hot shower and called the landlord. I knew that by the time I got home my house would be back to living conditions and life would continue to be swell.
Two exams later, I came home to my 52 degree house, and I felt angry. Anger... at the temperature. Absurd. It finally hits me how selfish I have been. It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours, and my house is well above the outdoor temperatures, but I am angry? What right do I have to be angry at all, when I have a bed to sleep in, a shower to clean in, and dry clothes to put on, as well as three meals each day. So much of life I take for granted.
Here's to heat. May we be ever thankful for such a privilege.
And may the Lord's protection and blessing be upon those without it.
