I held my hand in front of my face, unable to perceive its shape, size,
color or dimension. My heart crumbled. My blindness was real. Like a
candle blown out by an unexpected draft, my self-confidence, motivation
and purpose vanished, leaving my world as shapeless wax. Sightless and
defeated, I looked to my husband, Gene, for support.
Years later, we attended a Bible study
on marriage. Gene volunteered to read a portion of the text. "Some married
couples feel like they ended up with a different spouse than the one they
thought they married…"
Gene stopped abruptly and remarked with
a chuckle, "I think that happened to me!" Everyone, including me laughed
at his unexpected comment.
After I laughed, I paused. His comment
held a trace of painful truth. Twenty-nine years ago, he said, "I do" to a
different woman.
I thought back to my wedding day, a
vivid reminder of my days with full sight. The guests waited with
anticipation. Their whispers mixed with the soft and delicate melody
coming from the piano. Gene waited for me at the altar. The music changed,
which was my cue to begin my walk down the aisle.
"Are you ready?" whispered my dad with a
hesitant tone.
I nodded and put my trembling arm
through his. We proceeded down the aisle with marked steps to the tune of
royal and elegant trumpets echoing loudly through the church. My steps
were slow, but my heart beat fast. The artistic arrangements of fresh
flowers along the sides laced an invisible canopy of soft fragrances. The
sun beaming through the huge stained-glass windows painted colorful
reflections on the marble floor, adding to the magic of our day.
Dressed in pure white, I joined my
prince. "For better or for worse…"
Those words held a distant concept back
then, and my heart lit up with dreams of the "better," But nine years
later, my world darkened with the reality of the "worse," and those words
echoed with a sobering truth.
"What I can see is a clear deterioration
of the retina," said the ophthalmologist. "You need to prepare," he
paused. Then he added with coldness, "No one knows how long you’ll have
your sight."
"He’s wrong. It won’t happen. I can see
just fine," I reasoned.
Driving the car became a silent torture
for me. "My hands trembled as I strapped in my three-, five-, and
seven-year-old sons. "You need to be good," I warned. "Mommy needs to
concentrate on driving."
But no amount of concentration made my
driving safe. A sudden sideswipe of a car coming from nowhere shook me to
reality. I confided in Gene, "I can’t drive any more. It’s hard to see the
other cars clearly." This was the painful beginning of what we both
tacitly dreaded.
Each day became a test of the amount of
sight I still had left. One week I could see the furniture around me, the
next I could only perceive portions of some items. My one comforting
thought was, It’s okay, I can still see what’s important—my three little
boy’s faces!
"Lord, please help me keep this much
sight!" I pleaded in desperation.
Out of habit, I felt for the light
switch in our bathroom, I flipped it on, but… the darkness remained. My
body shook with terror. Holding onto the cold, slick countertop, I looked
toward the mirror and saw a dreary-gray nothing. In desperation, I felt
the urge to scratch through the glass into the darkness to find even a
slight glimpse of my reflection. Instead, I found the ugliness of my black
world and angrily shouted, "Why me, Lord?"
Gene came into the bathroom and startled
me. "Are you okay?" he asked.
No, I’m not!" I screamed as I pounded on
the countertop.
Help me God. Help me to face him, face
my children, and face myself… my heart begged.
In the midst of my sobbing, I said to
Gene, "Let’s pray. We need the Lord."
He held my hand and whispered, "I
agree." He gently brushed some hair strands from my face. "We’ll be okay,"
he assured me.
Years swept by, turning the pages of our
life together. Some were stained with the pain of losing our youngest son,
others wrinkled with adjustments to unexpected financial setbacks, and the
pages of my blindness were carefully taped together. But each page, framed
with a rainbow of colors, reflects God’s sustaining power.
Although unable to see my own
reflection, I see God’s image in the mirror of our marriage. The faint but
sweet aroma of Gene’s cologne surrounds me with delight as he holds my
hand and prays for my day before leaving for work.
On other occasions as we drive out of
our neighborhood, Gene remarks with sweetness in his voice, "My baby sure
looks beautiful," I smile with gratitude as he takes my hand, brings it to
his lips, and places a gentle kiss.
When I comment, "It sure is chilly in
this restaurant, isn’t it?" moments later, I feel a light sweater around
me. Gene had quickly slipped away and retrieved it from the car. He drapes
it around me and deposits a kiss on my cheek. "Can I fix you another plate
from the salad bar?" he asks at the precise moment I finish what he
brought me the first time.
Walking hand-in-hand among the racks of
clothes in a department store, Gene says softly, "Okay, let’s see what
would look perfect on my beautiful girl."
I hurriedly try on the clothes he picks
out and model them for him. "What do you think? Do you like this one
better?" I ask, waiting to hear his opinion.
"They all look great on you, especially
that red one with your black hair!" he comments. "We’ll take them all."
Lying next to my sleeping husband, I
stretched my hand to find his strong arm. In the stillness of the night,
my thoughts raced. Although my eyes had lost their function to see, I
could still cry. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the well of gratitude
within me overflowed. Listening to the sound of Gene’s rhythmic breathing,
I sighed with admiration for the man who saw beyond the ugliness of my
blindness, and with his love, turned me into a queen.
As I sat across from him on our patio,
my thoughts wandered. How I wished I could return his unconditional love.
How I longed to have one chance to say, "Don’t worry, honey. Stay home and
rest. I’ll take care of those errands." Just to have one more opportunity
to ask, "How about if I read something to you for a change?" But these
thoughts were not to be.
Gene’s words brought me back to the
present. "Ready to do some reading?" he asked with a cheerful tone. We’re
on the last book of the "Left Behind" series.
"I’m ready." I placed my glass of water
on the table. Seated across from him on a comfortable lounge chair, I
listened to his words. The soft, gentle breeze brushed my face. The tone
of his voice caressed my heart.
At the end of a chapter he took a break.
I asked, "Do you sometimes wish you were married to someone who could
see?" I’d never asked this before, but I continued, "Then you wouldn’t
need to do so much. Tell me the truth." I held my breath waiting for his
answer.
After a few moments of silence, I heard
him place his eye glasses on the table. "The truth is, you probably do
much more for me than I ever do for you," he replied. "We make a good team
just the way we are, and we’ll make it to the end. We have God as our
coach."
In silence, I pondered his last
sentence. It reveals an important truth. God is our coach, and He calls
the plays: to submit and to love.
With my eyes fixed on Jesus, I submitted
to Gene’s love. And as he followed God’s instructions, he handed me a
golden crown of victory adorned with diamonds of patience, rubies of
understanding, and emeralds of devotion. With tenderness, He placed a
brilliant and permanent sparkle of joy into my dark world.
___
Janet Perez Eckles lives in Orlando, FL
with Gene, her husband of 31 years. She is an inspirational speaker,
writer, contributor to seven books and author of the compelling book,
Trials of Today, Treasures for Tomorrow: Overcoming Adversities in Life.
She welcomes letters from her readers.
jeckles @ cfl.rr.com
www.janeckles.com |
