Lately, though, I have been struck by how often Scripture seems to meet me exactly where I am. Not because I am looking for meaning everywhere, but because God knows us intimately. His timing is precise. He continues to provide and work within our circumstances.

While I could not see well enough to read the Bible, I could still listen to it through the Bible App. At first, I simply had someone open Psalms and hit play.

When I regained enough sight to do it myself, I started scrolling through the verse-of-the-day section and listening to the daily thought associated with the verse. I still like some more than others. Today’s verse stopped me. Paul writes in Romans 5:3–4 that we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.

The person sharing the thought used the phrase disappointments are divine appointments. That made me pause.

What if we changed our thinking in the moment of disappointment and asked God for wisdom to see the divine truth He is developing in us? How would that change our thoughts and actions? How might it impact others around us?

When I could not see even an inch in front of my face, I prayed. Anyone and anything that came to mind was covered in prayer. I attempted to visualize everyone in the pews at church, my friends lists, customers, email lists, and even included a “God bless what’s his name” Sound of Music–style prayer. I prayed for myself, for vision to return, but also for clarity moving forward, wisdom to let things go, and courage to face whatever obstacles might come.

In Romans 8:28, we are reminded that God works all things together for good. It does not say all things are good. God does not cause the challenges, difficulties, illnesses, or obstacles we face, but He walks alongside us through them.

It is our choice to turn the hard things over to Him so He can do His work within them.

I can rejoice in my sufferings, develop endurance, strengthen my character, and affirm my hope.

The question is no longer “Why me?” but “What will God do with this situation?”

Vampire Ways

In general, I prefer softer lighting. Some friends joke that my house is too dark and call me a vampire. The living room has dark green walls, wood floors, and the blinds usually stay closed since the windows face due east. When the door is open, it creates a blinding glare, even on cloudy days. In that darkness, humor surfaced as a way to cope. I joked, “I may need to rethink my vampire ways.”

As the light returns, I still find myself retreating to those vampire ways. I dim lamps. I seek quieter, darker spaces. Light often feels too bright, distorting colors and shapes, causing strain and fatigue. My eyes and brain tire more quickly in this stage of recovery. Healing does not always look like charging into the light. Sometimes healing looks like learning how much light the body can tolerate and when rest is required.

Those thoughts led me to consider why stories about vampires, light, and darkness have appeared across centuries and cultures. While the stories vary by era and author, many share common themes. Harsh light overwhelms what is unprepared for it. Survival requires awareness of limits and intentional movement. These stories reveal more about human vulnerability than about monsters, reflecting how people respond when light feels overwhelming or absent and when answers remain out of reach.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Fear of the dark itself seems nearly universal. Darkness represents uncertainty. People fear what they cannot see, predict, or control. Doctor Who captures that fear clearly in the episode Silence in the Library. The Doctor observes, “Almost every species in the universe has an irrational fear of the dark. But they’re wrong.”

The fear isn’t irrational, because something unseen really is waiting in the darkness: the Vashta Nerada, microscopic creatures that live in shadows and devour anything in their path.

The characters fear the dark not because darkness itself is evil, but because something unseen waits within it. Panic increases as certainty disappears. Survival depends on light, awareness, and staying together.

The Light in Darkness

Scripture does not promise the absence of darkness. Scripture promises the presence of God through it. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me” (Psalm 23:4). God does not wait on the other side of fear. He walks before, beside, and behind us. He surrounds us with His presence and care. Darkness does not limit His ability to guide, protect, or restore. His sight remains unlimited.

This season continues to teach discernment. Retreat is not rejection, boundaries are not failure, and rest does not signal resistance to healing. Healing includes learning when to step back, when to dim the lights, and when to allow the body and mind to catch up to the progress already underway.

For now, I retreat to the comfort of my cave, listen to my body’s need for healing, and rest in God’s peace. I trust a Big God who sees clearly, even when I do not. “The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1) I pray that these limitations remain temporary, but that the lessons endure long after my sight fully returns.

My community showed up for us and served without question.

Usually, I am among the first to notice a need and act. That has been part of how God has shaped me for years. Right now, God has placed me in a different season. I am resting more. I am doing less. I am learning to pay closer attention to what truly belongs to me and what does not.

While my physical sight was diminished, my vision gained clarity and focus.

When we see a need and can meet it, responsibility follows. Sometimes we wait for someone else to do what God has placed directly in front of us.

An Acappella song has played repeatedly in my mind during long, wakeful nights as I wait for healing and allow God to refine my purpose. Everybody Said delivers its message with humor, but also with conviction. Everybody assumes somebody else will do the work. Anybody is capable. Too often, nobody acts.

Scripture names that tension clearly.

“If anyone, then, knows the good he ought to do and does not do it, he sins.” (James 4:17)

James is not describing ignorance. He is describing awareness without action. Knowing creates responsibility. Clarity calls for a response.

Seeing a need is not an accident. God often allows us to notice because He has already equipped us to respond. Scripture reminds us of this truth:

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance as our way of life.” (Ephesians 2:10, BSB)

Obedience does not require attention or applause. Faithful action often happens quietly, in ordinary moments, by people who choose not to look away.

Do not wait for somebody else to take action.
Everybody needs to be somebody.

Headaches, sinus issues, and migraines are not new to me. In the week before Christmas and into the new year, I experienced something new. Sinus pressure settled in behind my face and eyes, more pressure than pain. A dull headache followed and stayed for days. Medication, water, caffeine, and even migraine treatments did nothing to help. Auras appeared without the pain, which wasn’t necessarily abnormal for me.

What began as pressure behind my eyes and a persistent, dull ache slowly turned into something harder to explain. I developed a blurry spot in one eye, prompting an emergency room visit. A CT revealed a sinus infection. I followed up with my eye doctor, who ruled out any retinal issues, noting only dry eyes and some surface issues. The relief of that appointment was short-lived. Within days, the same blurry vision appeared in the other eye, then things started going dark.

I sat on the couch with every light turned on, yet it felt like I was wearing sunglasses at night. No light entered. Color and shape disappeared, and fear took a seat.

We returned to the emergency room, were transferred to a more equipped facility, and spent several hours undergoing more tests without answers. I was told an ophthalmologist would call me, but that call did not come. Again, the relief of ruling things out did not change the symptoms.

My own eye doctor called me back, reevaluated the situation, and noticed extreme pressure in my eye. Back to the ER we went. This time, I was admitted. With my sight nearly gone, I was completely dependent on others to read messages, feed me, guide me to the bathroom, and tell me the time. Daily life narrowed in ways I never anticipated.

Hospitalization finally brought answers after more MRIs, CTs, and a lumbar puncture, including a diagnosis of optic neuritis. This inflammation of the optic nerve interrupts the signal between the eyes and the brain. Treatment includes IV steroids for several days, followed by an oral steroid taper for weeks or months. While the steroids stop the damage and begin the healing process, recovery takes time.

That explanation helped me understand what was happening physically, but it did not answer the deeper questions. What do you do when sight disappears faster than certainty? How do you wait when answers come slowly and outcomes remain unclear?

During my hospital stay, my room was in Hope Tower, a name that carried more meaning with each passing day. I spent many hours praying, asking not just for the return of my sight, but also for clear vision. My room had a constant flow of visitors. Every person, situation, or thought that crossed my mind became an opportunity to pray.

Recovery has not been linear. Darkness gave way to shapes. Light sometimes feels too bright or distorted, as though it bends the wrong way inside my eyes. Clarity is improving, but definition is still forming.

A familiar verse says, “I once was blind, but now I see.” Those words carry a deeper meaning now. The space between blindness and sight can be long, quiet, and deeply refining. I fought overwhelming fears and clung tightly to faith.

This season has required stillness and patience that do not come naturally to me. In the quiet, clarity has taken shape in unexpected ways. Lessons have surfaced about what needs to be released and what truly matters moving forward.

Prayer has carried me in ways I cannot fully describe. Friends stepped in without being asked. My children rose to the challenge, though not without growing pains. My husband continues to meet me with equal parts service and silliness.

Some days are better than others. I must remind myself to go slower and be patient. I continue to manage the side effects of steroids. Even as energy and stamina improve, limitations remain. As vision improves, discomfort is part of the process. Light feels intense, varying between too much and not enough. Contrast feels exaggerated. My eyes work harder to make sense of what they see.

I am humbled by God’s provision as I wait in expectation. Patience is a process, and obedience is a practice. I remain grounded in my faith. I believe in the Great Physician and trust that His plan and purpose are greater than anything I could ask or imagine. At the same time, I acknowledge that some days in this journey are hard. I continue walking forward in faith, held by His hand, trusting that even the difficult days remain under His care.

After arriving home, I began to reflect on how much we are like the turkey crossing the road. We focus so intently on what we want that we often fail to see the danger around us. The turkey ran toward danger instead of away from it. We often do the same when we follow our selfish desires rather than God’s direction. James 1:14 explains, “Each person is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own desire.” Scripture also gives clear guidance: “Flee from temptation” (2 Timothy 2:22). God provides a way out every time (1 Corinthians 10:13), but we must choose to take it. Turning away is not weakness. It is wisdom and obedience.

When I returned home, my mechanic friend looked at the car. The damage truly was cosmetic. He snapped the fender back into place in less than five minutes. You cannot even tell anything happened. That is what God does with us! He restores what is broken and strengthens what is weak, making us new. We may still experience consequences from past choices, but through the blood of Jesus, we stand without stain or blemish, whole and redeemed in His sight.

Even a turkey on the highway can teach a lesson when the heart is listening. My frustration with myself became a nudge from God to stay alert.

In my Christmas decorations, the fragile ornaments live separately from the non-fragile ones. Everything is carefully wrapped each year. One of these ornaments is a large hand-painted ball from our first Christmas in Germany. Well, was. When I went to pick up that ornament, I heard and felt a crunch through the wrapping. This is one of those “cannot be replaced” kinds of ornaments. I was devastated, while at the same time recognizing that the ornament was less important than the memories of our time in Germany.

Over the weekend, when loading my show bags, my son managed to knock everything onto the floor with a splendid crash. When I arrived and started setting up my booth, I learned that two of my mirrors had not survived. I cleaned everything out of the bag and shook out the shards over the trash can.When I arrived home that evening, my daughter’s first words were, “Something bad just happened to your pepper shaker.” The first thing I noticed: everyone was barefoot. Though disappointed that my antique shaker crashed and broke, my first task involved safety and cleaning another mess of broken glass.

Each of these instances provided an opportunity. I could be mad about the loss of objects and the mess, or I could be thankful that no one was hurt and teach humility through service. I could focus more on the stuff and less on the people around me. Even in my disappointment, I focused on gratitude.

It is the same when we face brokenness through significant losses in life: loss of income, loss of a job, loss of a loved one, loss of a dream. How we respond determines how we will heal and rebuild.

The song also contrasts what we demand with what we truly need and our earthly plans with the hope God provides. That thought has stayed with me as I reflect on one year before beginning another. Focus determines direction, even (or especially) in times of brokenness.

Ballet summer session is this week, which means getting up earlier and spending more time in the car. My daughter is not a morning person, and she comes by it naturally. We started the car ride every morning with a prayer and the daily Bible reading. Sometimes we had to listen to a song taken directly from Scripture after the reading.

On Tuesday morning, the reading started with Ephesians chapter four. “As a prisoner in the Lord, then, I urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling you have received: with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, and with diligence to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:1–3). I said “OUCH!” out loud.

The Bible doesn’t only tell us WHAT to do. It tells us exactly HOW to do it and the result of doing it! Walk worthy, with humility, gentleness, patience, love, and diligence. This preserves unity and peace. Again… OUCH.

As I meditated on walking worthy, I also attempted to take my thoughts captive and stop the unwholesome talk. Unwholesome doesn’t necessarily mean profane or even untrue. Our words can be negative, hurtful, contrary, rebellious, or obstinate. Another verse came to mind: “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person” (Colossians 4:6).

The world’s idea of being “salty” may be sarcastic, rude, or overly critical. A Christian should be salty in a very different way. Our words should be gracious, drawing others toward Christ rather than pushing them away.

The best way to manage temptation is to be rooted in the Word of God. I can readily recall Scripture because I study and diligently make an effort to apply the Word. When His Word is written on our hearts and lighting our path, we are better equipped to walk worthy of our calling.