I’m Fixing My Eyes

November 15, 2022 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I had eye surgery last week.

I suppose it’s the ultimate indicator of age creeping up on me. Though sometimes it seems as if old age is bashing the door down, rather than creeping.

The surgeon removed the lens of my right eye, it having been covered with a cataract that was affecting my eyesight. In its place, a sparkling new lens was inserted, one that is clear and shaped correctly.

I now have measurably better vision in that eye, as well as being able to see colors and light more realistically.

I’m not sure I like it all that much.

I close the right eye, seeing only through my left, and I become almost nostalgic. The difference is striking—nearly dramatic. Immediately, I feel warmth and comfort.

Let me see if I can explain what I mean.

Over time, a cataract on the lens of the eye changes the hue of what one sees. It can eventually become so dark that a person can’t see much at all. That was not the case with my eyes yet.

The change in my eyesight essentially just added a browny-yellow hue to everything I saw. Not enough to obscure anything, but enough to make the view through my eyes more warm and comforting.

Here’s another way to think about it: I take a lot of photos of nature (and bridges). It seems to me that the camera actually changes the images I capture a bit from what my eye sees. Over the last few years, as I process them, I have grown to rely on an app that has the ability to filter the color and light of the photos. I use filters to make the final photo more realistic.

To me. It’s more realistic to my eyes.

One of the filters is called “warmth”. Raising the value of this filter turns the scene slightly more yellow. Maybe even a little browny-yellow.

I like that.

Do you see my problem?

Now, I close my left eye (with its cataract) and open the newly repaired right one. The world changes from warm and comfortable to brilliant and stark.

In another week, I will go back to the surgery center and the surgeon will replace the lens of my left eye, too. I’m not sure that makes me all that happy.

I want to continue to look at the world through my warm and comfortable filters. Brilliant starkness doesn’t appeal to me that much.

That said, I understand that I need to see clearly. And, as I write the words, I remember that our physical eyes are not the only ones in which we need 20/20 sight. We need to see clearly, not just in the physical world around us, but in the spiritual as well.

Am I the only one? Does no one else go through life believing they’re seeing the world as it is, only to be rudely awakened by a different perspective offered by way of a crisis, a conversation, or an overheard comment?

Again and again, we’re sad as we learn of previously hidden illnesses. A beautiful day can turn black in seconds as we hear of tragedy and loss. Folks we thought were doing fine may actually be in the throes of financial disaster.

It would be easy to think all the eye-opening revelations are of sadness and distress. That’s not always the case. Frequently we learn of good news while we’re expecting the worst.

There’s a story in the Old Testament about that. The prophet Elisha and his servant opened their eyes one morning to find themselves surrounded by enemy forces, intent on harming them. The servant, expecting his own annihilation at any moment, was terrified.

Elisha, seeing the world as it really was, prayed for his servant’s eyes to be opened—really opened.

Then Elisha prayed, “O Lord, open his eyes and let him see!” The Lord opened the young man’s eyes, and when he looked up, he saw that the hillside around Elisha was filled with horses and chariots of fire.
(2 Kings 6:17, NLT)

Looking up, the servant saw the armies of heaven, prepared to fight for God’s people. Before, he had seen what he knew to be truth, an army bent on his destruction. Eyes fully opened, he now saw the protection of God’s hand poised to save.

I’m ready for that; ready to see the world around me as God sees it.

How about it? Are we ready to love it as He does, ready to weep when He does, ready to stand firm where He says to stand?

To do all of those, we have to see with His eyes.

For my part, if it takes some mud and spit, as it did for the blind man in Jesus’ day, I’ll take that. Or even letting the surgeon replace the lenses in my eyes.

It’s time to fix our eyes.

I’m still going to use the warmth filter on my photos, though.

Even if they do look a little browny-yellow to everyone else.

I can see, and that is why I can be happy, in what you call the dark, but which to me is golden. I can see a God-made world, not a manmade world.
(Helen Keller)

Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2, NASB1995)

The Dark Inches

November 11, 2015November 11, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The young man sat on a stool in my music store the other day, strumming a guitar. As I had already done earlier, I simply looked over momentarily to check on him, and turned back to my work. The music continued.

He wasn’t the best guitar player to sit on that stool. Some incredibly difficult and flashy pieces have been played by other musicians there. Still, he was certainly competent. And, he was happy. He smiled the whole time he sat there, fingering the chords and lead lines to the songs, as he hummed along.

I had been on the telephone when he and his brother had walked in the door, so I hadn’t really seen them come in. Glancing up, I had waved a quick greeting before focusing again on the items I was entering in the computer program open before me.

If I had been free, I might not have been as surprised later when the happy young man finished playing. Instead of replacing the guitar on its hanger against the wall, he just sat there with it dangling from his hand.

His smile was gone. While he had been playing, his brother had moved around the corner in the shop and was looking at something against the far back wall.

After sitting uncomfortably for a moment, the young guitarist called out to his brother, “Hey! I’m ready to move!”

Immediately, the other man turned and, walking rapidly, came to his brother’s side, touching him on the shoulder. The guitarist held the guitar up and the fellow hung it with the others on the wall.

Then I saw it. The young man was sightless.

I understood now. His brother was his eyes in a strange environment. As he stood, the brother moved close, standing right in front of him. From there, with a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the young blind man moved easily through the store, back to the guitar strings hanging on the slat-wall display.

If you’ve been in my store, you will understand this is not as simple a journey as it sounds. Amplifiers jut out from the wall and instrument cases clutter the aisles. The stack of instruments awaiting repairs is formidable even to sighted folks.

Still, the sight-impaired young man, smiling again, navigated his way easily to and from the back of the store. His hand never left his guide’s shoulder and the guide didn’t fail him.

The young guitarist trusted his brother.

He trusted him and the brother lived up to his expectation. Not once did the duo run into anything. Never did the blind man get hung up on the corner of a counter, nor did he trip over any unseen obstacle in his way.

He trusted his guide.

What is it like to have to trust someone else completely?

Some who read or hear these words already have an intimate knowledge of the experience. The absence of physical abilities have made laughable the claim of being captain of their own ship. Without any act of their own will, they must depend upon others for their well-being. Every day.

I consider that circumstance and I marvel, not only at the courage to face every day of their lives, but also at the helpers who have come alongside these folks and have said by their actions, count on me; I’ll be here for you through think or thin.

Put your faith in me.

But, you know there is more to it than the physical, don’t you? Before the brothers had walked out my door, my mind was racing.

I trust the God who sees all.

I do.

When I can see it, too.

The disciple named Thomas, the one we have dubbed Doubting Thomas, had nothing on me.

I want to see it. I’ll believe it, sure—after I see it. (John 20:25)

Thomas was the same man who had suggested they needed a better roadmap earlier. The Teacher suggested they already knew the way to where He was going and Thomas objected.

We don’t even know where You’re going. How do you suppose we’d know the way? (John 14:5)

I like the practical way Thomas’ mind thought. I’m all for this trust and faith stuff, but first, give me a GPS and let me see the evidence.

We call it blind faith for a reason.

Mostly, it’s that we can’t see more than a step ahead, but we trust that our Guide will lead us well. Without seeing the obstacles, nor even the dangers in the dark, we know He won’t run us into anything that will hurt us.

Funny, isn’t it? I stood on the edge of a life with Him and looked out into the distance and told Him I would trust Him to get me there. It was a glorious future. Relationships and family, jobs and ministry—even physical well being—I trusted Him with all of it. For years ahead, I would walk the road with Him.

I just didn’t expect I’d have to trust Him in the dark.

Surely, He needs my help and advice. Surely.

As if.

Faith demands that we trust the same for the dark inches as we are willing to trust for the brilliant miles. Either we trust Him or we don’t. It’s that simple.

So, here I am with my hand on His shoulder, putting one foot in front of the other.

Trusting.

And hopefully, smiling as I go.

I’ll work on that, too.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
(Hebrews 11:1 ~ NRSV)

Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
(Civilla D Martin ~ Canadian-American hymnwriter ~ 1866-1948)

Perspective

May 6, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The blind man stands at the counter in front of me and asks his questions.

I wonder, really, how much he sees. As I speak, his eyes seem to be fixed on me, and he hangs on to every word I say. When I smile, he responds with a smile of his own. I suppose it’s probably a response to the inflection of my voice, but still, I have an unreasonable suspicion he is seeing me in his own way.

Later, he will sit down for a while and play a classical guitar in my store. I will be amazed by his technical ability and sensitivity to the music. Most folks who see the world more clearly will never be able to reach the level of his musicality. I include myself in that group.

But for now, I’m struggling to answer his questions.

“Is that stack switch an on-off arrangement? Can I use it as a kill-switch for an instant off?”

“How do you wire a guitar for stereo output?”

As I give him the benefit of my meager store of information, I realize he is not asking simply to tuck away the knowledge in his head. He has a project in mind which he is going to attempt for himself. He is going to build a guitar.

Without the advantage of sight. He will build a guitar.

He is blind, but he has a vision. A vision he sees clearly.

After he leaves, I sit and reflect. This man, with no light by which to see, is going to take individual parts and assemble them to produce a complete instrument. He will then play music on that instrument–still in the dark.

I have assembled a guitar before. The lights were on, with extra lights focused on the small parts I needed to attach to the instrument. I even used a magnifier to see those parts with more clarity when necessary. With my eyes wide open, I struggled with the project from start to finish.

He will do it in the dark. Feeling his way.

I don’t write about my blind friend to belittle sighted readers, nor even to diminish my own deeds. I simply mean to encourage us to reach further. We all have challenges to overcome.

Your challenges aren’t the same as mine. Mine aren’t the same as his. Sometimes, even emotional challenges can loom large and cut off the light in much the same way that physical blindness does.

The darkness in our spirits can often be as profound as the physical lack of sight. We struggle simply to put one foot in front of the other.

Ultimately, in this physical world, we all–every single one of us–must live, and love, and achieve, guided by the light given us. Whether the blaze of a noonday sun, or the flicker of a candle from afar, we walk in that light.

The same applies to our spiritual walk, with one incredible difference. Here we can only walk in His light. His light has no sign of darkness, nor loss of vision, at all. As we walk in the light, His light, we walk in tandem with other travelers, who also count on Him for strength and salvation.

Sick though we may be, stricken with blindness, or crushing sorrow, all of us have the same advantages, the same Source from which to draw both strength and light for the journey.

I like the idea of having fellow travelers with whom to walk, sharing our visions with each other, and helping others over the rough spots. Your strengths are not mine, nor my weaknesses yours, but together we can work to reach the goal.

The blind man has vision.

I’m just beginning to see the light.

“Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me you know. Because in that other room, I shall be able to see.”
(Helen Keller ~ blind American author/lecturer ~ 1880-1968 )

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.”
(Isaiah 9:2 ~ NIV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

sight

I’m Fixing My Eyes

The Dark Inches

Perspective