Do you see it, that little dot of light just above the horizon, slightly left of center?
When it first caught my eye, it startled. “What could that be?” I wondered. Too large for a star, and wrong time of day. Too still for a plane or UFO. Fading, then reappearing, sometimes flashing brilliant.
Then I detected the feeble silhouette (look hard, below, it’s there), and knew it was sunlight, glancing off its flailing surface to my eyes…
Yet now when I look out and see that simple homestead windmill, whether flashing sun’s reflection or silhouetted gray against clouds, it surprises me again.
The biggest surprise is that I can see it at all!
By just last summer I couldn’t. It had faded. Rather, my eyesight had. The corneal dystrophy that plagued my eyes had worsened. There were lots of things I couldn’t see well…
That was to be expected. Continued deterioration of vision, perhaps to the point of full blindness someday, was something just to accept—a genetic disorder medical science knows no way of arresting, let alone reversing.
But then, last fall, I found myself seeing things that, before, had appeared fogged up even on good (dry, stress-free) days. Something astounding had happened!
Even now, this late-winter morning, I can still look out and see it, my sign of wonder there on the hill.
Not with perfect vision (20-20 that I’ve never enjoyed), nor fully cured condition, for I still have times when fatigue or stress affect my eyesight. And I don’t know if this will last. But still there’s improvement no one could expect (except God, and childlike believers.)
This trouble with my seeing, it has to do with the eye’s wondrous workings by God’s design, which we all take for granted, even when ignorant of it:
On one of the cornea’s layers special little cells act like mini water pumps, ridding the cornea of debris and excess moisture.
When they begin to die and drop (inexplicably) no new cells replace them. So the cornea fills with moisture and muck like a steamy soap-scummed shower stall and the view beyond gets clouded. Other troubles strike when the remaining cells attempt the work of the previous many. Spreading out trying to cover all bases, they can stretch beyond their limits, and burst, inflicting pain instead.
So what can I do but take my vitamins, get my sleep, and avoid stress, so that what remains works as well as possible? That’s all.
There’s my beacon on the hill, in my clear view. Along with other signs of improvement.
So, in reflection on all of this, I’m especially thanking God this day for…
- the surprising reflection on the hill
- ability still to see not only its reflecting, but even its pale gray silhouette
- amazing workings of my eye, marvelous instrument far more complex than what I learned in school
- joyful beauty of eight, yes eight, bright cardinals busy together at the feeder
- books I’d packed up to sell or give away, that I’ve put back on the bookshelves
- fun of working a jigsaw puzzle with Husband, able to discern color nuances. (Last year it got too frustrating to enjoy.)
- ability to “do the taxes” myself this year, after all—though I still wouldn’t call that fun! (Last year, pale lines and boxes on forms nearly drove me to distraction!)
- ability to differentiate blackish navy from bluish black of socks I’d assigned last year to separate drawers to avoid wearing navy with black slacks (blush)!
- That I was only with knowing friends when I did that color faux pas!
- For candles lined up, glowing, on our supper tabletop, custom resurrected from the past.
- For color beauty in foods:
- multi shades of fresh peppers from the store,
- red apples and bright oranges in a basket together
- clear green of broccoli, frozen from summer’s garden, cooked just enough
- dried herbs harvested from patio bed, still holding green hue and fresh taste
- crunch of pecans in the color mix of a tasty sweet potato salsa
- blue shadows on new snow…
- subtle shades on morning’s horizon
I could go on and on…