Being Blind

Ryan and I weren't born blind, but it was close enough.


I can remember those days in junior high when we got contact lenses so we wouldn't have to wear glasses thick enough to set our upper cheekbones on fire when we walked out into the sun.  Contact lenses were okay at first, but eventually, no matter how well you took care of them (which we normally didn't) they still felt grainy after a while.  I longed to be like some other kids who never had to wear glasses or contacts.  I desperately wanted to be able to see my alarm clock at night without actually picking it up and putting it four inches from my face.


I didn't like being kind of blind.


It all changed about ten years ago when Christine said that she wanted to gift me the present of non-glasses sight.  She booked me an appointment with the doctor who could perform Lasik surgery on my eyes.  As I sat and talked with him, he went through the risks of Lasik, permanent blindness being one of them, but also intense discomfort from the slicing back of the lens and then the actual reshaping of the corneas using a laser. 


I couldn't get Austin Powers' voice out of my head when he said 'laser beam.'


Anyway, he delicately took me through the process and I had a decision to make: either put up with semi-sight for the rest of my life, or go through the describedly painful process so that I could finally see.


I went for the second option.  As the operation day dawned, I was given valium which slowed me down a little bit, but when the doctor put me into the chair, I was pretty aware of what was happening.  Then, as he pulled my eyes open a la A Clockwork Orange, I still got nervous.  Anxious enough that when my lenses were pulled back I started to pass out.  It wasn't that painful, really, but my brain was on overload and I don't actually think that I was breathing enough.  The doctor started yelling into my face, "Wake up!  Wake up!"  Yeesh. 


Then, the burning smell.  I'm not going to describe it much other than the odor of duck pinfeathers being singed.


It only took five minutes per eye - who would have thunk it? - but it seemed like an eternity before he put the pads over my eyes.  These had to stay in place for a whole day so that my lenses could heal; therefore, I was literally without sight for the day and night wondering if in fact the surgery worked or I would be perpetually without sight.


The next day dawned (without light in my case) and on pins and needles I waited for the appointment so the doc could remove the patches.  As I groped my way to the car, my brain went to worst case scenario. I was already buying one of those red and white canes and a  harness connected to a golden retriever.


Sitting in the chair in front of him, he spoke calmly to me and then he ripped the tape from my eyebrows.  (This was probably more painful than the surgery itself.)  Slowly but surely I opened my eyes and for the first time in my recordable life, I could see across the room without visual aids.  I looked at Christine who had her hands teepeed in front of her face, expectantly hopeful that her gift was not a curse.


And then I smiled.  Life was new.  Life was different.  I could finally see.  The song made sense: Was blind but now I see!


Things that had been previously hidden to me were revealed.  I could see the horizon; I could view leaves on trees across the street; I didn't have to squint at the chalkboard.  I was reborn.


Perhaps this is what Paul felt when the scales fell from his eyes on his trip to Damascus recorded in Acts 9.  Paul was blinded by all sorts of things - spiritually blinded more so.  His inability to see God's plan in Christ, perhaps his own pride and position in his own Pharisaism, had blinded him to the path set apart for him and it wasn't until the Great Physician showed up on the Road that Paul heard the difficult part of the journey coming.  There would be some pain, certainly some confusion and temporary blindness; there would be a moment of anxiety of planning for an unimaginable future. 


But the choice was his.  He didn't have to allow Christ to change him, but he did.  And after the scales fell from his eyes, he finally understood with startling clarity that which was being asked of him.  To preach the good news to the Gentiles - those people who just a few days before were considered unclean.


Talk about confusion and pain.


But the sight of Christ calms confusion and angst and when those scales which caused our spiritual blindness fall from our eyes, we recognize two things: God's grace saves us through Christ and that God's continual plan for the body of Christ can use our giftedness to share the news of grace to a world that seems graceless. 


What are the things that are blinding you at this point in your life?  What are you afraid of?  What would change for you if you found your own Damascus road experience?