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?”

Faith matters more than ever, not faith as a feeling, but faith anchored in what God has already promised. Even in my uncertainty, God did not move. His sovereignty and steadfastness never depend on individual circumstances. Nothing thwarts His purpose or derails His promise. God remains a permanent stronghold, no matter what life brings.

Moses wrote, “Lord, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations” (Psalm 90:1). Israel’s circumstances changed constantly in the wilderness. Their tents moved. Their surroundings changed. Their future was uncertain. Their refuge did not change.

That has become increasingly meaningful to me.

This is where faith holds steady for me. When circumstances shift and familiar supports fall away, God’s promises remain unchanged. He does not withdraw when life narrows. He does not loosen His grip when independence fades. He remains my dwelling place.

A temporary season does not mean an absent God. Faith in His promises keeps us anchored. When the Lord is my refuge, I am never without a home, even while the path keeps moving.

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.

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.