Over the past several years my sight has been deteriorating. I could still see the big stuff, but reading - instead of being my favorite thing to do, had become a trial. It was especially difficult as my job - my way of earning an income so I can pay my bills - requires all day screen time.

I prayed, "Please Father in Heaven, fix my eyes. You did it for blind people in the bible, surely you can fix my eyes."

The eye doctor said, "Sorry, there is nothing more we can do with your glasses prescription, you will have to have your cataracts removed."

The idea of not just letting someone cut on my eyeballs, but paying them to do so was not appealing. At the same time there was an anticipation, an excitement. Let me explain . . .

When I was two years old I had injured one of my eyes. My mother was a seamstress and even at that very young age, I understood what a seam ripper was for. One could take things apart with it.

A seam ripper comes with a variety of handles, but the working end of it consists of a 'J' shaped piece of metal, the inside lower curve of which is sharpened like a knife. When a seam has been stitched incorrectly, the small tool can be slipped into the seam and the thread easily cut without hurting the fabric allowing for correction.

With nothing seam-ish to work on, I opted for the weave of an upholstered chair with a thread count of 6. With what I can only imagine was all my two-year-old strength, I successfully broke one of those fat strings and jammed that tool into my eye.

My parents were not willing to accept the diagnosis that I would never see out of that eye. They called everyone they knew and asked them to pray for me. God graciously answered those prayers with a yes and when I was taken to have the bandages removed the doctor was shocked to discover that the scar tissue had beautifully healed the rift - outside my line of vision.

My vision was not perfect. Even with glasses I could not see perfectly, but I had enough vision to manage - including being able to pass the sight test for my driver's license when I turned 16.

Many years later my eye doctor told me to just hang on a little longer, they were working on a lens that would replace my damaged one and give me better vision. He retired several years ago and was not able to give me the good news that the technology now existed. BUT, the scar tissue itself could be an issue. Separating my damaged lens from the scar tissue might ruin the pocket in which one's natural lens sits, meaning a replacement might not stay put. After much deliberation, it was determined that it could be done with little risk of messing up that pocket, but I might have a lopsided pupil. 

An irregularly shaped pupil was not of great concern to me, but I did have a fear. I have read that when technology allows a blind person to see, the emotional toll can be high. In a few cases, the newly sighted person had such a hard time adapting to sight that they opted to go back to being blind. I had had an experience once where an eye doctor had managed to get my injured eye working well enough so that I did indeed have a reaction . . . my eye just quit. There was no vision at all with that eye. The scariest part was that it wasn't really my eye that had quit working. It was my brain that wasn't sure what to do with the improved sight. Fortunately, I quickly recovered.

In that experience, I could take my glasses off and get some relief. Having a lens surgically implanted would not be removable.

"Please Father, I want to see!" was my continuing prayer. The uninjured, but cataract infested lens was replaced and my vision from that eye is amazing!  But now the discrepancy of sight between the two eyes was even worse. Depth perception made stairs frightening. The combination of good sight / bad sight gave me headaches and I went through those three weeks between the surgeries mostly with one eye closed.

"Please Father, I want to see! You know everything about my eyes. You know everything about the surgeon. Guide his hands, show him where to cut and where to place the new lens."

The surgery went well. The pocket is good. My pupil is round. And my eyes are working together. I'm seeing better than I have since I was two. 

God not only guided the part that can be done by human hands, He took care of the part humanity could not touch. My brain has accepted the new, wonderful ability to see!

And Bonus: something I didn't even think to ask for . . . I live in a part of the country where winters are typically gray. Clouds ALL winter.  It is depressing! Except, with more light entering my eyes, being able to see colors in all their vibrance, my winter depression has lifted. All Praise to my generous, merciful and loving Shepherd.