Or are they?

Now I feel as if researching validity and worth is a quality and necessary endeavor. Yet I’d rather just come up with an answer: Yes, they are. No, they aren’t. Alas, they could be under different circumstances. Like if I were the woman at the well or Nicodemus, experiencing a private tête-à-tête with Jesus coz then my frustrations would be fully known to the one who can actually do something about them—as if worth is based on the ability to conquer, fix, etc.

Tension. I can’t be fixed. Well, I believe God doesn’t want to. So what do I do with my frustrations? I conclude that they bear no discussion, at least not too much. I shouldn’t make them into my shtick, my “past routine” that emerges with each new speaking engagement like the tale your grandfather always tells simply because it’s his favorite, not because you need to know it.

No!

No? Is God mean? To say that He would say “no” sounds so harsh and lacks all the warm fuzziness we’ve often associated with divine Jesus love. To say that God would actually tell me that He won’t fix my eye, and to allow for the inference that there are some things God doesn’t fix no matter how hard we’ve prayed, seems so wrong. And trust me when I say that I’ve prayed about this as have so many others. I have no idea just how many God-fearing prayer warriors have interceded on my behalf. And we believed that God can and that He would. Be He hasn’t so I’ve decided to act as if He won’t.

And as I thought about my professor’s question throughout the rest of that class period, I realized that my one request to God reveals my deepest pain and I supposed that it was time I got some new pain, the kind that God has when He thinks about trying to save us. I don’t want to downplay personal experience like a former boss of mine would do almost daily. He’d step into my office and take a few moments to share some concerns he had regarding the incredible work our department had before us directly and indirectly related to teaching all the university’s Freshmen how to write well. Then after a passion-filled unloading, he’d walk away saying, “But how can I complain when there are people starving around the world?" I wanted to smack him but instead I simply reminded him that his frustrations were both real and valid…as are mine…right?

can i get my sight back?

It’s the first day of class, one of those large classes that can make grad school frustrating. Too many bodies. Too many opinions. Too many reasons to think my ideas aren’t necessarily the brightest. But I respect the professor so I’m here. To my surprise, we don’t begin with the usual introductions of selves and syllabus. Instead, our professor boldly probes: “If you could ask God for just one thing, what would it be?” I immediately have my answer but quickly determine to keep it quiet as I listen to fellow classmates say, “Save me” and “Save my family.” Those are the right answers, the good pastor answers, the true shepherd answers. My answer is completely wrong, self-seeking, ridden with pain. But perhaps I can pride myself in knowing it’s actually a question which the act of asking creates. My answer is, “God, can I get my sight back?”

Not that many people know about my eye and those who know don’t always realize the degree to which it affects me—it just looks lazy. The truth is, I had a stroke. (At least, that’s what the doctors said. A friend recently put me on the idea that perhaps it’s related to my C2 which a chiropractor could have fixed had I gone to one right away. But that’s not at all conclusive on a professional level so I’ll leave it alone for now and return to the stroke idea.)

There. I wrote it, a much easier task than saying it. The memory of that Sabbath morning in 2004 when my left eye became clinically blind is still fresh. My lack of depth perception still frustrates me. I still wish I could be the goalie in a soccer match or the receiver in a flag football game. I still wake up every now and again wondering if today is the day God would like to perform a super miracle in my life after which I’d tell the world, help us all believe in miracles. And even though it still hurts, I’ve essentially come to terms with the idea that God’s reply is, “No.”