Afraid to See Again

The surgery-induced blindness in my right eye is going away. After 10 years of learning to laugh at myself when I walk into pillars, people and posts, my 15% vision is finally gaining strength. According to the optometrist, I currently have somewhere in the zone of 35% vision. I should be excited about that. 

I’m… not. I’m not excited at all, actually. 

Logically, my random vision increase helps in unfathomable ways. Driving will soon not be a terrifying prospect. Most assuredly, it’ll be nice to see what my crazy cerebral palsy impacted right hand is up to all the time. Blindness isn’t convenient. 

So why do I care?

I hate my vision coming back because I’ve gotten used to the darkness. I’ve gotten used to living in such a way that compensates for the inconvenience and pain. It’s a lot easier for me to act as if I didn’t see things that hurt my feelings, gamble away my trust, or helps the people in my life think they got away with a lie. 

As weird as it sounds, living in darkness is comfortable. As my sight increases, I’ll get over it, though. 

I’ll get used to seeing the sun come in my window, and I’ll learn to love it again.  But first, I have to trust the difference. I have to trust that I really am seeing the silouette of a friend and the differences between green and red. If I don’t let my eye try to perform differently, I’ll lose vision again. 

How many times do I do the same thing with my sin? How many times does God whisper to my heart, “I turned your heart away from that habit a long time ago. Stop acting as if you need it more than you need Me”? But instead of agreeing and living in freedom, I act like I don’t know what freedom tastes like because I’m too used to my chains. 

…and the chains are comfortable.

How much of our sin nature exists because we’re too afraid to take God up on the promise that life can be different? What would happen if we trusted Him enough to try?