My
fingers seldom tap the keyboard without remembering Gene, my mentor in
devotional writing. In my early life his
column helped to see that a Christian writer does not search for illustrations
as much as he learns to see God’s activity in everyday experience.
While I was in my thirties I came to
appreciate how this sacredness of the ordinary speaks to people from every
denomination and walk of life.
But by the time I was 40, I feared he was
leaving young people behind. I chuckled with my wife: “No matter what Gene
writes about these days, he’s really writing about aging.”
Now that I am in my fifties, I know better
why he did. A month ago I went to the
eye doctor for my annual exam, and he told me that I was less nearsighted this
year than last. I blinked.
“You’re kidding!” I said. Every year since 1974, my optometrists have told
me with experienced grace that my eyes were a half-diopter more nearsighted. But after 43 years of this ritual, the
athletic kid now doing my examination blithely told me my eyes had started to ossify.
He teased about my having cataracts (and yellowing of the vision) to look
forward to.
For
a split second I wanted to challenge him to a bench press contest. But he had no way of understanding how difficult
this obvious metaphor would be for me. The
notion that my eyes had stretched as far as they were going to, and are
hardening into a more rigid condition, devoid of creativity and growing insight frightened me. I don't want to be old in mind.
Then, last Sunday, I experienced what’s
since been diagnosed as a retinal tear. The retinal debris and internal bleeding caused
me to lose much of my sight in my dominant eye. My optical surgeon assures me all should be
well. Yet, this week of impaired vision
has helped me see clearly that all things will always be “all manner of well.”
Whether my thinking is considered fresh or stale, I need not worry. At any age even blind eyes fixed on Jesus are always
given what is important to behold.
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