Then Shall the Eyes of the Blind Be Opened

DSC_1104 (5)

Following up on a reminder to remember, let me tell you this story.

“What would we do if that happened in our family?” my son asked. A book he read for a school assignment upset him. It was the story of a girl who became blind.

“First we would cry,” I told him. “Then we would make adjustments and help her to live life as best she could.”

That was an inadequate answer. I had more to learn. A few weeks later our daughter, his younger sister, went blind.

A case of pink eye, combined with side-effects of medication for another condition and the use of contact lens I told her not to wear, but should have confiscated, turned into a raging infection. I didn’t realize how serious it was until one morning, a couple of weeks before Christmas, she screamed that she couldn’t open her eyes because of pain. We took her to the hospital still thinking she was overacting a bit when the ophthalmologist told us she was admitting her. She had “fried her corneas” and faced serious scarring that meant she would probably lose her eyesight permanently.

The doctor was not nice about it. She yelled at us in the hallway in front of patients and staff, berating our parenting ability and accusing us of negligence. I was terrified and filled with guilt. Not only could my precious child go blind, but it was my fault!

The next few days were agony for all of us. Our daughter was placed in a small windowless room near the nurses’ station on the children’s ward. Anyone who visited her was also essentially blind, since any light caused her great pain. Every hour, day and night, a nurse entered and administered painful drops, which, we didn’t know at the time, she was allergic to. Her condition deteriorated.

“First we cry,” was entirely inadequate for the situation. “First we weep and wail and throw up,” was more like it. Of course, we tried to not let her see – or rather hear – our reaction. We tried to maintain a positive attitude around her, even when the doctor told her there was no way she was going home for Christmas. She would be spending it in the dark, stuffy room.

Of course, we prayed, but it was more and more difficult to maintain any kind of faith with every new negative report. But God…

“There was someone in my room last night, Mom,” she said when I came in early in the morning.

“It was probably a nurse, or hospital staff,” I said.

“No. I always know when the door opens because the light in the hall hurts and besides, they always talk to me. This felt different. The door didn’t open. It was just there. I felt, I don’t know, a presence.”

I assumed painkillers caused her to hallucinate.

Then the doctor came in. She was shocked. Our daughters’ eyes were much better. There was no sign of infection and inflammation and swelling were fading. She remained in hospital a couple more days to make sure, but she came home for Christmas.

Today she is a teacher and artist – a professional photographer who depends on keen eyesight. She was told she would never be able to wear contacts or have laser surgery for near-sightedness, but that prognosis was not fulfilled either. Now, she doesn’t even wear glasses. When doctors predicted her husband would die of necrotizing fasciitis, she had faith and hope beyond any logical scientific limitations. An encounter with the Healer opened her heart to possibilities she never imagined. It opened our hearts as well.

Here is where I was wrong. I told my son that if such a thing ever happened in our family, we would try to find ways to cope. Even though I grew up in the church and heard all the stories in the Bible about how Jesus healed people, I didn’t know he still heals. The best we could reasonably expect was help in learning to cope.

I know, the first yeah-but that comes to mind is the question about why many people who pray are not healed. I don’t know. All I know is that people who believe The Healer is part of who God wants to show himself to be for us see a lot more miracles and healings than people who have lost hope. People who rejoice in his goodness are free to live in hope – and hope frees us to live without limits.

God is good.

DSC_0042 (2)

Hope Springs

may flower DSC_0144

The May tree is finally in bloom. It’s very late this year, almost a month later than last year, I think. I stopped checking it for signs of blossoms a while ago. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.

I think that the fear of disappointment is one of our greatest fears. I have talked to many people who are afraid to hope in God, lest he turn out to be as disappointing as many important people in our lives that we once relied upon have been.

When we fear abandonment or rejection, or worse, betrayal, we either give up, resigned to the inevitability of more disappointment, or muffle our own heart’s cry in distractions or work.

This has been both a challenging miserably rotten week of feeling helpless and a delightful inspiring week of spiritual growth. You don’t need the details. Weeks like this are custom-made to reveal what is lacking in our experience of who God wants to be for us. Your definition of rotten is probably different than mine, as is your experience of delight, but you know what I mean.

If my hope levels over the past few days were on a graph it would look like a major seismic disturbance. I’m much better than I used to be, but I’m not where I want to be. I wish all the weights on the worry side of my emotional scale would move permanently to the trust side without jumping back when I go to answer the phone.

The Lord has been reminding me to remember — and I would — and then, with more bad news, I would forget. I purposely wrote down promises I have seen fulfilled and miracles I have seen manifest before my own eyes. I have seen this stuff time and time again! Why do I struggle to hold those memories in my heart when faced with another crisis?  Why do I still oscillate between joyful trust and sick-to-the-stomach worry?

I spent time sitting in the warm sun under the May tree this evening and quieted my heart to wait on God. (My stomach still did its own thing.) This is what he reminded me to remember. I share it with you.

The God of all hope is the God of all love first because there is no hope without love.

Love is voluntary or it is not love. He chooses you. He likes you.

Lacking hope? Go back to love.

Quit acting like an orphan and trying so hard to figure it all out yourself. You’re adopted now. Let him look after you. Let him walk with you and show you how to do life with all its craziness.

Remember the many ways he has shown his love before, even when you messed up. And give thanks for as many things as you can think of. (This is important for your sake.)

You have never done anything that disqualifies you from being loved by your Papa God.

He is the God of all comfort and the God of limitless possibilities, so don’t ignore or limit him.

The greatest title you could ever hold is beloved son or daughter of the Creator of the universe. He’s got you.

He won’t stop loving you. He loves you because he loves you because he loves you — even on days when you can’t imagine how.

Look up, child. Spring will come. It always does.

may tree flower blue bokeh DSC_0150

I Will Remember

DSC_0139 (3)
This is how I fight my battles. I paint my prayers. I started this piece at class on Monday eve, but it was not right. Too dark. I worked on it some more this evening.

Since Easter I have been running into the word “Remember.” Jesus’ last supper with his disciples was important. When you are on your way out you tend to make sure you talk about the things that matter most. He talked about remembering his broken body and spilled blood every time we take bread and wine together. He washed his friends’ feet as a demonstration of a servant’s attitude, but also as a reminder, especially to Peter, that we cannot do this on our own. We need Him. We must let him help us before we can help others.

We also need to let other disciples help us and admit when we are weak. This is about family and relationship and the giving and taking goes both ways. On Sunday I was on the prayer team and prayed for others. Tonight I am praying for my sixteen-year old granddaughter who is an exchange student in France. We just learned she is in hospital after a head injury.  I am also asking friends to come alongside and pray for her and for her parents and brother and us, her grandparents who are all a continent and ocean away.

This is my painted prayer. Bread, wine, water, basin, towel, candle. “Remember.” I remember all he has done for us and I praise and thank him. Jesus is the light of the world. God is love. He is faithful.