In the words of my Yorkshire-born grandfather, me eyes ‘ave gone. Well, eye, to be specific. It looks like some sort of cornea damage now. I can maybe have more surgery, but it’s risky. The surgical team (which pulls from all over North America) will confer, but I’ve been told to start thinking that this is the new normal. It’s disappointing, but also a bit of a relief in a weird way. I can accept the new normal. It’s the not knowing that was so very upsetting. The good news is I can drive and work out and do all the usual stuff. I have a bit of vertigo, but I had that before too. Reading is tougher, but I’ve enabled the huge print on my iPhone and will probably pick up an iMac this weekend to supplement my laptop. When Apple can solve your woes, you know that things could be much worse.
I’ve been immersing myself in the church lately. When the chips are down, you need to pull out the heavy artillery. I’ve been meeting with my friends of faith and leaning heavily on the books of Lisa TerKeurst and the words of my friends at See Hear Love. And I remind myself daily of this.
This is the day the Lord has made. Not just Easter or the day at the beach or a particularly good sample sale. He made not just the good days, but all the days. So I try to look for the gifts. I’ve had much harder days and there have always been the gifts. This whole eye thing has given me a certain sense of discernment. A product of my culture, I was getting distracted by the silly. (If you are interested in finding out how where you live changes you, this is an excellent piece!) I was a little to of the world and not simply in it.
And I try to look for the positives. I’m a month away from living seaside. I can get a good old fashioned Victorian-era airing. “Here eyes have gone. She’s gone to the sea,” people can say. I can buy a billowy gown and smelling salts. It’s all good.
And when the days are harder, I can always take comfort in one of my favourite passages ever.
The unknown is always the most unnerving. Always good to lean on the Lord.