The thing about losing control is that sometimes you don't realize you had it until its gone. So in that way I'm grateful, grateful when I lose control and find myself completely helpless. That's really how it should've been all along: simply following the voice of my Shepperd instead of how I intend to accomplish this or that, peering into the depths of my own vision.

But this doesn't have to do with metaphorical vision. It has to do with physical health, something I've fought for since I can remember. From broken legs and arms to meningitis to carbon monoxide poisoning and reconstructive bone surgery, I've fought to be strong and healthy and unlimited. This time I lost. At first I was flustered, then I was angry, then weary, but now I'm thankful.

Dependence rather than independence, weakness rather than self-reliance, these things make grace sweet. Tomorrow it could all get better or it could all get worse. But the One who sustains my mind and heart and body is gracious and I rest in that.