As someone who had a maternal grandmother as well as a paternal grandfather who both had issues with their vision as they got older, I should not have been surprised when my eye doctor told me a few years ago that I would be a candidate for cataract surgery sooner rather than later in life.
He was spot on.
Last month, at age 50, I had cataract surgery done on both eyes, and am simultaneously thrilled and baffled by how clearly I can see now. I didn’t realize just how cloudy my vision was until suddenly it wasn’t.
This experience reminded me of something I read a while back about how once you really SEE something, you can’t go back and UN-see it. Just like I can’t fathom going back to that compromised sight I was seeing from literally, I also can’t imagine going back to the times in my life when I have figuratively peered out from a limited vision.
My last two years of high school, I was pretty much concerned with no one but myself.
My friends were far more important than my family, and what I wanted was top priority.
Three days before Christmas my freshman year of college, my grandma had a heart attack while simmering a big pot of soup on the stove, and died before the ambulance got to the hospital. It was the first major loss I had experienced, and I was devastated.
But still pretty selfish.
When we got back home to Minnesota after Grandma’s funeral on December 27, my mom wanted the four of us to spend the evening together opening our Christmas presents. I, however, announced my non-negotiable plans of going out with my friends.
This led to a rather heated confrontation that ended with my signature move of storming off to my room and slamming the door behind me.
My dad was on my heels, and he set me straight. I begrudgingly went upstairs to apologize to my mom, and as I approached the closed door to her bedroom, I heard her sobbing, “I’ve lost my mother and my daughter all in the same week.”
It stopped me in my tracks. I had never heard my mom so full of anguish, and I was overwhelmed by the realization that I was the cause of it.
I could finally see how selfish I was, and it made me realize that my life was not just about me. I am forever grateful that my vision was expanded beyond the end of my nose.
This was one of the biggest wake up calls of my entire life, and it made me more open to the ones that followed; moments like…..
…Volunteering at a shelter for women and children. Once I saw how these moms had to choose between a roof over their head, or food on the table, I couldn’t UN-see how poverty traps people in cycles that are hugely challenging to break.
…Participating in a discussion about the book, “White Fragility”, after the racial unrest in 2020 came to a boil. Once I saw how many privileges were granted to me because of the color of my skin, I couldn’t UN-see how many privileges were denied to others because of the color of theirs.
…Struggling in my marriage: blaming and criticizing my husband for things I wasn’t willing to acknowledge in myself. Once I saw how my own attitude effected our contentment as husband and wife, I couldn’t UN-see the responsibility I had to be a better partner.
…Encountering images of Jesus that were brand new to me. This past Christmas, I discovered a youtube video of James Taylor’s cover of “Some Children See Him”, which featured images of Jesus from all around the world. They were stunning.
Someone living in Africa saw Jesus differently than I did. Same was true for someone from Japan or Brazil or any other place on the map. Once I saw Jesus through their eyes, I couldn’t UN-see the limitless possibilities of how Jesus looks and what Jesus means to people all over the world.
Today, nearly two weeks after my second cataract surgery, I am in awe of what I see now that I didn’t see before.
Likewise, I am in awe that what I thought I saw so clearly before, can be seen in a larger, more generous, and compassionate way.
I don’t ever want to UN-see that.
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