I opened my eyes to a sideways view of the sidewalk. My temple pulsing, my head fuzzy as if my brain was thick with static cling. It’s a very weird thing to wake up when you didn’t even realize you were unconscious. Moments before the queasiness had set in as my dad and I were waiting on a takeout order. I quietly stepped outside for fresh air. I felt dizzy and light headed and then, BAM. I was down and out.

A few days later, I was finally released from the hospital, with a clean bill of health. Evidently I have the heart rate of an elite athlete, which means it is really low. The good news is I’m in good shape, and that at the rate I’m using my heart, it should be good for another 300 years or so. The bad news is that when your heart beats as slowly as mine does, you’re a small dip away from a black out. It’s never happened before, and the doctors said it was quite possible I’d never experience it again. But now I know the feeling, so if there is a next time, I can at least cushion my fall.

I’ll be honest. I’m getting a bit frustrated with my current situation. I was already in the midst of wrestling with some of my most personal demons. I was already grappling with the pending loss of my job and the uncertain future ahead. I was already trying to stay alert and clearly hear what God has to say to me in this time of “crisis” so that I’m obedient and follow the path He has for me in all of this. And then BAM. I wake up on the sidewalk and spend the weekend getting poked, prodded and probed as if I were in alien hands.

Kind of feels like I’m being kicked while I’m down. Or more accurately, being put down after getting kicked several times. I’m remaining open to what God wants to show me in all this. How all the pieces are connected. In the meantime, I guess I just have to roll with the punches…and the kicks…and the sidewalks that come my way.