In sixth grade, my eyes started going bad. I couldn’t read the overhead projector screen at school (kids, Google it if you don’t know what that is) so my mom took me to the eye doctor and I got glasses. And all the clichés are true. I could see every individual leaf on the trees. My sight slipped so gradually, I didn’t even realize I wasn’t seeing clearly, until I could.
I started wearing contacts. My eyesight continued to deteriorate at a fairly rapid pace up to my late twenties when I got LASIK. Suddenly, I could wake up in the morning and as soon as my eyes opened, I could see. No more fumbling for glasses. No more inserting contacts. I could just…see. It was nothing short of miraculous.
Over the past year or so, I started having problems again. My right eye has decided to start slipping back into nearsightedness. Not only that, but the muscle that holds it straight has weakened, causing it to turn inward just enough to give me double vision. (Getting old sucks.) So I’m back to glasses on occasion and once again, just like in sixth grade, the clarity is stunning.
Once you realize you can’t see (which sometimes takes a while), it’s a frustrating and scary experience. Everyone I know has had a wonderful experience with LASIK surgery. But something went wrong with mine. Once the numbing drops wore off, the pain was absolutely unbearable. The mild discomfort they predicted felt like shards of broken glass in my eyes. Tears poured down my face for hours and I was terrified. I couldn’t open my eyes at all. I couldn’t take care of my baby. My husband had to lead me around and bring me food. I was completely helpless.
Thankfully by the next morning, I was fine. But the pain and fear of that day was bad enough to keep me from going back for a touch up. No thanks. If things start going south again, as they have, I’ll just deal with the glasses.
As much as I hate not being able to see, it seems strange that I would willingly choose blindness in so many other areas of my life.
I have an annoyingly soft heart and over the years I’ve developed a foolproof way of protecting it from hurting too much. Blinders, putting my head in the sand, denial, turning a blind eye. Lots of different terms for the same idea: Don’t look, don’t see. If I don’t see it, it won’t hurt, and I won’t have to deal with it.
I rocked along this way for a long time, happily oblivious to difficulties, struggles and imperfections around me. Ignorance was bliss, and those were blissfully ignorant years.
Then finally one day, it seemed God had had enough. He needed to show me some things. He needed me to see things with clarity and feel pain so I would DO something about them. And gradually, layer by layer, He began gently peeling the scales off my eyes.
There was a pretty mediocre movie that came out years ago called At First Sight. Val Kilmer starred as this blind guy who got his sight back. Great news, right? He should be thrilled! He could SEE! YAY!!!
Turns out not so much. He had been blind for a long time and he had learned how to navigate his life well despite his handicap. I remember a scene from the movie when he was standing in his apartment, finally seeing every piece of furniture that he had only felt before, taking in the colors, the light, and it all became too much. So what did he do? You guessed it. He closed his eyes. Closed his eyes, reached out his hands and comfortably moved around his apartment like he always had.
Eventually, he learned how to live his life using his newfound eyesight. But that scene really resonated with me, and still does. When you’ve been blind for so long (whether by choice or not) and you finally see, it can be shocking and overwhelming.
Suddenly, I was seeing the brokenness and tragedies that surround us every day. Sex trafficking. Homelessness. Racism. Poverty. Discrimination. Terrorism. I laid awake one night crying over the latest Boko Haram massacre. “What are we supposed to DO, Brad? What do we DO?” I demanded of my sleepy husband. He started talking about the complications of our country getting involved. “No, no, no. I’m not talking about what AMERICA is supposed to do. What are CHRISTIANS supposed to do?” “Pray,” he answered. “That’s not enough!” I barked. He sighed and began patiently talking through the logistical problems with me trying to fly to Africa with a machine gun to save the world. He was right and I gave up. I tried to not picture the innocent faces of people being slaughtered so I could sleep, all the while feeling guilty about all the comforts and safety that surrounded me. And before I surrendered to my weariness, I fired off one more all too familiar shot. “If I can’t do anything about it, I’d just rather not know!” But once you know, you can never go back to not knowing.
Then God returned to a project that He began a few years ago, of dethroning my idols. What I didn’t realize was that every pedestal I built came with its own set of shackles that kept me bound to whomever I was worshipping. Flaws were being drug out of the shadows into the light and my people-loving, people-pleasing heart began taking hit after painful hit. I closed my spiritual eyes and turned away. “Lord, no more. Please. I don’t want to know. I don’t NEED to know.” He slowly raised the dimmer even brighter, and gently whispered. “Yes, My girl. You need to know. Open your eyes. Look hard at the truth. It will set you free.” My heroes became human. I grieved the loss of their assigned perfection for a while. And when I was finished, I wiped my eyes, stood up and took a nice deep breath. The spell my idols had over me was broken. And I was free.
I live in the light now and walk in truth. It’s better. It’s not necessarily easier, but it’s better. I believe that most of the time. But sometimes the light gets too bright and reality gets too hard and I’ll start to look away. God gently but firmly turns my face back toward the truth, reminding me what I was made for.
Pain is a catalyst. If something doesn’t hurt us, we won’t change anything. And that’s why we’re here. God put us on earth to change things, to bring the Kingdom. And we can only do that with a clear and accurate assessment of the brokenness and needs around us and within us.
And there’s no going back. You can’t un-know what you know. You can’t un-see what you’ve seen. And exposing yourself to difficult truth is dangerous without God’s guidance. Facing those things alone can send you spiraling into depression, paralyzed by the enormity of it all, and left in a pit of despair. But when you follow God into places of truth, you see His ultimate sovereignty over all things. And while the issue may be far beyond your capacity, nothing is too big for God. He’s got this. And if He leads you to it and shows it to you, He has a plan for you in it.
One of Glennon Doyle Melton’s mantras is, “We can do hard things.” Sounds simple, but the power in those words has given me strength in combatting the tempting ease of chosen blindness. We are called to be peacemakers, not peacekeepers. We are called to the ministry of reconciliation. We are called to be lights in the darkness. That means bringing the peace of Christ that passes all understanding into situations of turmoil and struggle. And that comes at a cost. As Viktor Frankl says, “What is to give light must endure burning.”
So spiritually, I was blind. But now I see. And that crystal clear vision isn’t as happy and easy and peaceful as my blindness was. But dropping the scales from my eyes was critical to moving forward and stepping into God’s purpose for my life.
Okay, Lord, I surrender my eyes to You. Show me what I need to see and shield me from that which I don’t. And may the difficulties in my line of sight move my broken heart to action. May the pain of clear vision in my life lead to relief in someone else’s.
