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The Eyes of Her Understanding
The exceeding greatness of his power…
Ephesians 1:19
The optician presses his lips together and shakes his head, barely perceptible to Amanda.
He changes the lens in the phoropter again, oddly returning to one he already tested. His sigh is soft and polite.
Amanda shifts in her seat. The insect-like device with all its clicking lenses makes her feel small. The optician’s subtle frustration only adds to her tension.
He gets up from his seat in the darkened room and switches the light back on.
“I don’t understand,” he says. His voice is calm, but she sees his jaw tighten. “Clinically your vision is fine. Yet whatever I do… this blurriness in your view stays.”
Amanda swallows hard. “Am… am I losing my vision?”
“I told you,” the optician says, his tone suddenly very steady. “There’s nothing wrong with your eyes. Perhaps you should go to the hospital.”
The hospital?
She feels her breath snag for a moment.
That hallway.
That smell of disinfectant and fear.
Only months ago, she’d stood there and said goodbye to her dear husband, fifty years stitched into one trembling farewell.
“Thank you,” she says curtly. “I will think about it.” She puts her own glasses back on, pays the optician his fee without giving him a second look and stumbles home with her blurry vision.
“Dear God,” she whispers as she opens the front door. “What am I to do? My entire world feels crooked. I can’t see clearly.”
A thought drifts up from somewhere deeper than her own voice: Read My Word.
It was just a quiet sentence that wasn’t hers.
Jesus wanted her to read His Word.
But she can’t.
The letters dance like smoke. And she hasn’t opened that Book since the day she said goodbye to her husband.
But a strange, unfamiliar desire wells up. She slides the old Family Bible from the bookcase and opens it. Her eyes settle on a passage and she traces it with her finger, trying to focus despite the blur.
I pray for you that the eyes of your understanding will be enlightened.
Ephesians 1:18
Excitement ripples through her entire body. Something is different. As she reads, the words are clear, no longer blurry. Warmth, understanding and peace course through her.
Is this for real? She blinks, unsure, but everything is clear, crisp and bright.
A miracle?
She doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter. How wonderful, how life-giving are God’s words. Why had she stopped reading them after her husband passed away?
She gazes around in wonder and raises her hands in quiet praise.
“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes,” the optician had said. Not with her physical eyes, but her eyes of understanding had grown clouded by long-held bitterness.
***
Dear Jesus, will you open my spiritual eyes so I may truly understand your plan for me and I will be a yielded vessel in Your hands?
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