There are moments in life when the illusion of control quietly breaks. For me, it came recently through sickness.
It was not catastrophic but it was enough to slow me down, unsettle my routines, and expose the fragility of human control. During those days, I found myself praying in ways that felt less polished and more desperate: “Lord, heal me. Forgive me. Help me.”
During this season of illness, my mind went to Isaiah 6, “In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up” (Isa. 6:1).
King Uzziah represented stability, strength, and national security. His death marked the collapse of something familiar and dependable. Yet it was precisely in that moment of upheaval that Isaiah saw the Lord more clearly than before.
Sometimes God allows interruptions because they expose what we were unconsciously leaning on.
The Fragility Beneath Our Strength
I care about health immensely. I cycle regularly, I exercise, and I try to steward my body wisely. These things matter because Scripture calls us to steward our bodies faithfully (1 Cor. 6:19–20).
But sickness has a way of reminding us that stewardship is not sovereignty. We can manage many things, but we do not ultimately control them. This realisation is humbling in a culture obsessed with optimisation.
We are constantly told that with enough discipline, information, routines, and supplements, we can master ourselves and shape our future.
There is partial truth in that because habits, wisdom, and discipline matter. But illness exposes the limits of human control. A healthy body can weaken. A disciplined routine can collapse. Plans can suddenly pause. Energy can disappear overnight.
In those moments, we are reminded of something modern life constantly tempts us to forget: we are creatures, not creators. The illusion of self-sufficiency is often strongest when life is going smoothly.
When Weakness Reorders the Heart
What struck me most during those difficult days was not merely the physical discomfort. It was how quickly my priorities shifted.
Projects and ambitions suddenly felt secondary. Writing and reading could wait. Plans to promote my book could wait.
What surfaced instead was a deeper awareness of God. I found myself thinking more about eternity than about productivity. About grace more than goals.
But God often uses suffering to loosen our grip on lesser things. Even good things.
That is what Isaiah experienced. Notice the order in Isaiah 6: first comes the vision of God, then the awareness of self, then cleansing, and only afterward calling.
Too often, we reverse that order. We rush toward usefulness before we have been humbled by holiness.
Isaiah first cries out, “Woe is me! ” (Isa. 6:5) before he says, “Here I am! Send me” (Isa. 6:8). In the presence of God, our self-confidence begins to unravel. Not because God delights in crushing us, but because he loves us enough to expose the false foundations we quietly trust.
The Mercy Hidden in Interruption
There is a kind of mercy hidden inside interruption. This is not because suffering is good in and of itself. Sickness is part of a groaning creation waiting for redemption (Rom. 8:22–23).
But God often uses suffering to loosen our grip on lesser things. Even good things.
For those involved in ministry, writing, teaching, or leadership, this can be especially difficult. We may sincerely desire to serve Christ while slowly attaching our identity to our usefulness.
We begin to measure ourselves by our output and success: How much am I producing? How many people are reading what I am writing? Am I making an impact? Is my ministry growing? Is my book succeeding?
None of those questions is inherently sinful. But they can become dangerous when our sense of worth becomes tangled with them.
Then an interruption, like sickness, interrupts the momentum. Suddenly, we are forced to ask a deeper question: Am I at peace with God himself, or mainly with what I am doing for him?
Only after cleansing does God speak about sending. Grace comes before commission.
The question can be painful, but it is also gracious. Because God does not merely want our productivity, he wants us.
Grace Before Commission
One of the most beautiful moments in Isaiah 6 comes after Isaiah confesses his uncleanness. A seraph touches his lips with a burning coal and says: “Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for” (Isa. 6:7).
Only after cleansing does God speak about sending. Grace comes before commission. The order matters profoundly for Christians living in achievement-driven cultures.
Weakness strips away illusion. It reminds us that our lives are sustained moment by moment by grace.
We often assume God’s acceptance rises and falls with our usefulness. But the gospel announces the opposite. In Romans 5:8, Paul writes: “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Jesus did not wait for us to become useful before he loved us. He moved toward us in our weakness (2 Cor. 12:9-11).
Sometimes sickness becomes an unexpected reminder of that truth. When productivity disappears, when plans are shelved, when strength fades, we are confronted with what remains. And God remains as our refuge (Ps. 46:1).
“Here I Am”
Isaiah 6 does not end with despair. It ends with surrender. Isaiah says, “Here I am! Send me” (Isa. 6:8).
Notice what Isaiah does not say: “Here are my plans.” “Here is my platform.” “Here is my résumé.”
There is a simplicity to surrendered availability that suffering often restores (Rom. 5:3-5). Weakness strips away illusion. It reminds us that our lives are sustained moment by moment by grace. It exposes how dependent we truly are.
The dependence is liberating because our faith is not built on the illusion of human strength or achievements. It is built on the grace of a Saviour who meets us in our weakness.
The apostle Paul learned this deeply when he pleaded for God to remove his thorn in the flesh. Instead, the Lord answered: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).
Weakness does not disqualify Christians from usefulness. Often, it becomes the place where we finally begin to see clearly. Sometimes God slows us down so that we may once again see the Lord who alone is “high and lifted up.”
