
Humbled by the Unseen
By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar
It’s wild how something you can’t even see can completely knock you off your feet. Thursday night, January 23, 2025, started out like any other night. I went to bed, expecting to wake up and tackle the next day, but life had other plans. Around 8:30 p.m., I started feeling… off. At first, it was just a headache, and I brushed it off, thinking maybe it was my blood pressure acting up nothing a little rest wouldn’t fix. I had just eaten some seriously seasoned food, so I figured it might’ve been that. But as the hours dragged on, things got weird.
First, I got hot—like someone cranked the heat in my body. Then, just as fast, I was freezing, shivering under layers of blankets. My muscles started to ache, my stomach cramped up like it was trying to punish me for something, and the next thing I knew, I was drenched in sweat. Tossing, turning, kicking off the covers, pulling them back on it was chaos. My body felt like it was falling apart, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
At some point, I drifted off, and that’s when the dream hit. In it, I was lying in my bed, just like in real life, feeling miserable. But then my mother, Marva, and my grandmother, Celestine, showed up. They looked so calm, dressed in navy blue, and they moved like they knew exactly what to do. My mom laid a cool towel on my forehead it was the kind of touch that speaks louder than words. My grandmother brought a bowl of soup, her presence steady and comforting.
“Everything will be okay,” they said in unison. Their voices were soft but firm, like they wanted me to believe it even if I couldn’t see how. Then they went to my closet, pulled out a sky-blue polo shirt and navy-blue pants, and started ironing them. It was such a simple thing, but they did it with care, like it meant something. When they were done, they hung the outfit on a hook and looked at me.
“You’re ready,” my grandmother said. “Just rest.”
When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat again, feeling like I’d just run a marathon in my sleep. At first, I thought maybe I’d lost it was I hallucinating? Why were they wearing blue? Why did they dress me in shades of blue and tell me I was ready? The whole thing felt surreal, like there was a message buried in it, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.
As I sat there, stuck between misery and confusion, something clicked. It hit me how something so small something invisible to the naked eye could turn your world upside down. A tiny virus, just floating around out there, can make the strongest person crumble. It doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve been through. It humbles you, strips away any sense of control, and forces you to confront your own vulnerability.
That night and the day that followed were some of the loneliest moments I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t have anyone there to check on me, no hand to pass me a glass of water or make sure I was okay. Everything hurt. Even standing up to grab some water or take a quick bath felt like a monumental task. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was physically and emotionally drained. But in the middle of all that, something else happened.
I felt the Creator’s presence.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic it was subtle, like a quiet hug when you need it the most. In my weakest moment, when I felt like I had nothing left to give, I sensed this calm reassurance, as if the Creator was whispering, “I’m here. I’ve got you.” And yeah, I cried. Not just because of the pain, but because I realized how much I needed that connection.
Sometimes, life has to break you a little to remind you what really matters. In those moments of isolation and discomfort, when you’re stripped of everything familiar, you find clarity. It’s in that brokenness that you remember to reach out to pray, to reconnect, to let go of your pride and just be real with the One who’s always been there.
That dream? It stayed with me all day. My mom and grandmother showing up, their calmness, the blue outfits it all started to make sense in bits and pieces. Blue, for me, has always symbolized peace, trust, and stability. It’s the color of the sky, the ocean it’s steady, constant, dependable. Them dressing me in those shades felt like a message: “You’re covered. You’re cared for. Trust the process.”
And those words “You’re ready, just rest” kept replaying in my mind. Maybe it was their way of reminding me that even in the middle of the chaos, I’m being prepared for something. Maybe the rest wasn’t just physical but spiritual a reminder to stop fighting so hard and let the Creator do the heavy lifting.
Sickness has this way of humbling you like nothing else. It strips you down to your core and makes you realize just how small you are in the grand scheme of things. But it also creates space—space to listen, to feel, to connect. For me, it was a wake-up call to lean in, to let go of my need to control everything, and to just trust.
Now, I’m still not feeling great. My body’s sore, my energy’s shot, and I’m far from 100%. But I’m not alone not really. In the quiet moments, in the pain and discomfort, I’ve felt the Creator’s hand, steady and strong, guiding me through. And that’s something I’ll carry with me long after the fever breaks and the aches fade away.
Life is fragile. It’s unpredictable. And sometimes, it takes something as small as an unseen virus to remind us of that. But it’s also in those fragile moments that we find strength not in ourselves, but in the connection we have with the One who never leaves our side.
Author's Note
This artwork captures the deeply personal and spiritual journey woven through my reflection. The rich blues swirling around symbolize both the turmoil of struggle and the quiet calm that comes when we lean into divine care. That soft, golden light streaming from above? It’s the Creator’s warm embrace, the reassurance we long for in our darkest moments.
The faint, dream-like figures in the background my mother and grandmother stand as symbols of unconditional love and nurturing. Dressed in navy blue, they embody a bond that reaches beyond this life, blending earthly and spiritual care in a way that speaks directly to the soul. Their presence in the image reflects the powerful truth: even when we feel alone, we are held by those who have loved us and by the Creator who never leaves our side.
This isn’t just a picture it’s a feeling. The abstract elements invite you to experience it on a deeper level rather than dissect it. It’s about capturing that humbling moment when life brings you to your knees, not in defeat, but in surrender to something greater. It’s a reminder that even in pain, there’s beauty, and even in loneliness, there’s connection.
Through this visual story, I hope to express the comfort, resilience, and undeniable strength found in moments where we truly open ourselves to the Creator’s care. It’s a call to recognize how deeply we are held, even when life feels overwhelming. Let this serve as a reminder that vulnerability isn’t weakness it’s the doorway to a love that heals and restores.

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