Yes, the test was positive.
And no, not that kind of positive.
Just the kind with two pink lines that announce, “Surprise! Your plans for this week have just shifted.”

I stared at the test for a moment, that familiar mix of disbelief and resignation settling over me. I didn’t want to slow down. I had plans. Commitments. Momentum. And yet—here I was—curled up under blankets with tea, tissues, and a revised calendar.

Before I continue, I want to acknowledge something: I know I’ve been sharing more about my health lately. And if you’ve wondered, “Is she really going to talk about this again?”—I understand. Truly.

But writing is where I find my footing. It’s how I process what I cannot neatly file away. Whether it’s journaling, blogging, or notes scribbled in margins, writing helps me sort through what I’m feeling and where I see God at work. So, while I never intend to overshare, I also know that this is how I stay connected—to my own heart and to the One who holds it.

And this bout with COVID reminded me of something I didn’t realize I’d forgotten:
God meets us in the setbacks.

Not just in the dramatic valleys or life-altering griefs, but in the smaller surrenders—the interrupted week, the cancelled plans, the days when energy runs out before our to-do list does.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

For a long time, I read that verse only in the context of grief and loss. But I’m learning it also lives in the subtler disappointments. The frayed patience. The tired bones. The “I thought I was doing better than this” days.

Healing is rarely swift. Growth is seldom tidy.
Sometimes God’s most tender work happens in the places we never planned to visit.

And in my forced slowing, I noticed Him in unexpected ways:

• In the quiet.
• In the stillness.
• In the absence of hurry.
• In the grace to simply be instead of do.

Maybe you’ve been there too—in a season where your body, your energy, or your circumstances asked more of you than you wanted to give. A place where you had to release the version of life you thought you’d be living.

If you’re there now, please hear me:
You are not falling behind. You are being held.

So thank you for listening.
For walking alongside me in the real parts of life.
For letting me be human-in-progress.

Now, I’d love to hear from you:

How has God met you in a setback lately?
Your story may be the exact reminder someone else needs today. 💛