I hear a blood-curdling scream rip through our home.
With horror rolling in the pit of my stomach, I dart into
the family room to see Levi holding a pick-up stick… in his eye.
Trembling, I race to him, this miracle child that I thought I would never have, the one that places his nose against mine to look deep into my eyes. And my heart howls within me.
It is in this moment that instinct overrides logic. Sweeping him up into my arms, I remove that stick, not considering the extra damage I could do. (It is not until later that I reflect and realize the drastic damage I might have caused.)
I hold him close, rock back and forth, and cry out to an almighty God to have mercy on us. Gary is in Brazil. I am in charge. And I have no idea what to do as one lone parent.
I whisper-shout to the older boys to please throw those pick-up sticks in the trash; I just can’t stand the sight of them. Stephen stands in the kitchen crying for his brother. David runs and hides. And I hold Levi close and utter desperate words that are simply pouring out of my spirit… “Lord, help Levi’s eyes, help his pain, oh Lord help him, by your stripes he is healed, by your stripes….” I’m crying. The memory is muddled. But there is one thing: I am clinging to God’s goodness. I know that HE does not want Levi to lose an eye.
Levi won’t open his eyes, and tears of pain are streaming down his cheeks. Praying is all I know to do in this very moment. Assurance fills my heart, I cradle his head against me and cry out, “In the name of Jesus, Levi, you are healed!!!”
Instantly, he stops crying, those painful tears still streaming down his cheeks. He looks up into my eyes. He smiles. Joy cracks his face wide open. And he almost-shouts, “Mom-Mom, my eyes are not hurting anymore!!” And then… laughters of joy filled with incredulous Hallelujahs and Praise-Gods and Thank-you-Jesuses. Stephen starts to laugh at me and with me. David comes out of hiding. Levi laughs as I try to get him to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up. Mom-mom is playing a nonsense game with him now. She’s so silly. The giggles I will hold in my heart forever. These brothers who have witnessed a miracle go on to tell it to so many others, putting their “little Levi” on display for all the world to see. “Look at what God did!”
Later, the seeds of doubt creep in. Maybe I was wrong. How could a miracle so profound happen here in our own home? Did it really even happen?
As if to give me a double-dose of reassurance, two days later Levi gets on the phone with his daddy, and across thousands of miles witnesses of God’s goodness: “I got a stick in my eye, Daddy. And I was crying. And then it didn’t hurt anymore!” My tears well up. God’s mercy upon us has been so great.
He goes into church that evening. As I give the testimony, he asks if he can tell it. “My eye was hurting, and then it didn’t hurt anymore!” He says it with both hands outstretched in front of him; that little boy gives praise to the One who acted on his behalf. He knows little else but that he once was hurting, but now he’s not.Because this miracle comes just two short weeks before I go in for eye surgery myself.
I am told at the pre-op appointment that there will be much pain. But this pain I know all too well, as I experienced months of my cornea being torn apart night after night. I think I’ve become more of a wimp having gone through it over and over again. I am sick from the anticipation of that pain.
Two years ago, I could no longer wear contacts without tearing a bit of my cornea off when removing them. Six months later, I could not go to sleep without the fear of a jolting pain waking me in the middle of the night. But it was not until my eye swelled shut from a botched treatment that I started seeing an ophthalmologist. Evidently, the same virus that causes cold sores routed itself to the nerves of my eyes, and there’s only one medication in the world thus far that I am allergic to: a commonplace steroid eyedrop. Though it’s a totally different problem, it was the first appointment in a series of many in which they finally discovered this problem I was having underneath it all.
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In the long months that followed, I wept on my husband’s shoulder fearing that I would lose my eyesight. How could I no longer watch my children grow up in front of me? How could I no longer gaze into the eyes of the man I love? How? The doctors could not figure out what was wrong with my eyes. Why my corneas kept mysteriously “falling apart.” I got to where I simply hoped the pain would come earlier in the night because, after the initial pain and crying, my eyes would start to heal themselves and I would eventually drift back to sleep.
I remember the day the ophthalmologist finally figured out what was wrong. Map-Dot-Fingerprint Dystrophy, he called it. By another name, Basement Membrane Dystrophy. Also referred to as “recurring erosion.” (As we get ready for a study on earth science next semester, I can’t help but think that my eye erodes. That is so weird. And not God’s design, I might add.)
To be honest, I was elated to have a reason why this was happening. And they even had a successful means of treatment (a special eye ointment to use every time I go to sleep)! Oh, to go through one night without the restless anticipation followed by piercing pain! Praise God I finally got to sleep fearlessly through the night!
One year later, I return to the ophthalmologist to have a routine eye exam to update my prescription and buy new eyeglasses. I am referred to another ophthalmologist, who says it’s time to permanently fix this problem (which is only getting worse with time) and perhaps even correct my vision. I am in awe. Excited, but nervous.
But because of this, and the fact that we have had our plates full of activity this semester as we test out cubscouts, athletics, another tutorial, and an over-abundance of other stuff, my eye appointments have knocked out so much of our school schedule. I look back on last year and wish I’d had as much time to do the “fun stuff.” But then I realize we have simply fallen back on the core of our work. The rest are just memories, and we are making our memories in a different way – with family trips to eye doctors and other activities. We just make the most of the moments we have together.
Still, I have to admit that the wave of disappointment crashes upon me from time-to-time. I want to do more. But God has us here for a reason. This season will ultimately be used for His Glory.
I go in for eye surgery the first Tuesday of December. I am already on medication to mitigate the problems and have been given more prescriptions for next week than I have ever had in my life. I have signed the waivers, which would be frightening enough to scare me away if it were not for the glorious chance of fixing a problem that has plagued me for a couple of years now. I’d be pridefully fibbing to say that I’m not concerned about the pain or potential complications I face. Nevertheless….
What’s the worst that can happen?
I’ve read it. And it’s okay. I am in God’s hands. And He is the Great Physician. Surely, the God who made Levi’s eyes whole can do the same for me! And no matter what happens, God will never leave me; He is with me. Whatever lies ahead, He will use it for my good and His glory.
God is the miracle worker.
For Levi. For me. And for you.
