She sees...

We had such a scare the other evening concerning Lucy's sight. Without going into great detail let me just say that a little soap in her eyes turned into an evening of concern that Lucy would literally be blind. Needless to say, it was a very long night. Never before have John and I feared so much for one of our little ones (save the first night we were on our own in Chicago, when we though Mason was drawing his last labored breaths. A trip to the university's emergency room revealed severe croup-he was our first little guy, we didn't know those horrible sounds were anything but a choking baby's final gasps).

For Lucy, letting her sleep peacefully through the night was the doctor's best advice, and waiting to see if her little eyes focused properly the next morning would indicate whether our worst fears would be realized. We invited a friend to join John in giving Lucy a blessing, and then we tried to get some sleep. As I tossed and turned in my bed all night, so many thoughts came to me. The sad thought that Lucy would not have sight for the rest of her life brought so much loss for me; she wouldn't remember what our faces looked like, colors she has not yet been taught to name would be lost to her dark vision. The difference between day and night, the chance to see the faces of her own posterity, or the smile of her proud parents. What sadness for Lucy to miss all those things, to go without vision, to be blind.

And what about her mom? What would change for me if my thoughts of moving to a new town, finding a home and settling down needed to include finding an occupational therapist, outfitting a new house for someone who is without sight, finding a network of moms who could help me learn how to give Lucy the tools she'd need to thrive despite the circumstance...an overwhelming idea to say the least.

I thought of many of you, many of our friends, who one day were looking at their beautiful children smiling happily and sweetly and finding the next day that cancer was a prognosis your child (and you) would face. Or the loss of a child. Or the inability to have children. We've seen so many of you experience unexpected challenges and watched your children fight tragedy and illness. It was your strength and success in your challenges that gave me a little hope on a dark night.

Then, the morning came. As Lucy lay quietly in our bed she began to open her eyes. They focused properly, fixing themselves on my smiling face. Seeing her parents lie close to her, Lucy's day began with color and vision. She could see.

Overwhelming gratitude and relief. A deep sense of yearning to commune with one who had surely intervened to circumvent tragedy. Prayers offered diligently throughout the day. A miracle experienced, no doubt.
She sees. I'm so thankful she sees!