How Well Do You See Your Life?

A few months ago, I had cataract surgery on my left eye. As soon as the anesthesia wore off, the vision in that eye began to clear. For several days afterward, I found myself alternating closing my eyes, right eye then left, amazed at the comparison. I was genuinely stunned at the difference. It was if the world had morphed from being covered by a yellow film to a landscape of vibrant hues. The sky and trees outside my bedroom went from always looking overcast to being bright and sunny. Above the trees is now a sky of cornflower blue accented by crisp white clouds painted strategically across it.

My age would normally have precluded me from this procedure. Perhaps I’m an overachiever when it comes to health, but my cataracts came on fast and grew faster. There was a collective gasp in the room when the nurses saw the size and placement of the impediment in my left eye. At my post-op appointment, even the doctor marveled. None of us knew exactly when the yellow film in my eyes had begun to grow. I never really noticed how tinted the world around me had become until the removal of the first cataract.

This experience has caused me to think about how sometimes, we all wear a clouded lens, which prevents us from seeing creation clearly. Are some of us born with this lens of cynicism, or does it develop as we age? How many of us start out seeing clearly only to lose sight of the beauty?

During my mid-twenties, I became depressed, and my depression led to an eating disorder. Failed relationships clouded my view of life—or perhaps they failed because my view was so skewed. The pursuit of faith became dull and felt hopeless as I tried to live up to my murky understanding of what it meant to be a “good Christian.” Meeting those murky expectations became more important than learning who I am in Christ.

As I studied Scriptures Paul meant to exhort and encourage, in my mind I compiled a worthiness to-do list. I must have skipped over entire chapters like Galatians 5, which describe what it looks like to be filled with the Holy Spirit. The verses I clung to felt more like a DIY life construction project rather than a pathway to resting in the grace of God. That was me—always striving, always seeking to find my worth in what I had been taught to do. I failed to see what Jesus had already done.

It’s taken years to dismantle my spiritual cataracts, and it’s another example of grace that “not yet” has been an integral part of my story. I find it’s much harder to describe Christ from behind a layer of tinted knowledge than it is to have sat in his presence, soaked in his grace, and acknowledged what he has done for me.

My excitement is even greater for my right eye to be repaired. Not only because the surgery is no longer an unknown, but because I’ve been reunited with the world through clear, crisp vision. Whether physically or spiritually, it’s good to be able to see the world as it really is: a thing of beauty.

Jemelene Wilson is a passionate storyteller who writes of faith, hope, love, and food. She’s madly in love with her pastor husband and mama bear to two daughters. Grace is a fairly new concept she is exploring with her life and words. Mama Jem believes we should live gently and love passionately. You can find more of her writing at jemelene.com.

Photograph © Eduardo Dutra, used with permission