Life is Beautiful – but it’s Complicated

We had our follow-up appointment with Dr. Davidson (the Cornea Specialist) on Monday. The appointment started with the MA doing the eye exam. She was very sweet but it was hard to watch Ameena struggle with the questions about what she could or couldn’t see. I tried to stay calm and remember that it had only been a week and that she does still have 5 stitches in her eye hindering her vision. However, I was not at all encouraged by the time the initial exam was over.

I began to remember a couple of timely details in this story, as if we were being prepared for Ameena’s accident. One was the story our cousins shared with us just two days before our trip back from Michigan as we sat on their porch one balmy evening. I don’t remember the context of our conversation, but they told us about getting one of those phone calls that all parents dread – that your child has been hurt at school and you need to come pick them up…now. Their daughter had been poked in the eye with a stick and would later find that she had a corneal abrasion. “How awful!” I thought. “I can’t even imagine.”

The second was on the actual drive home.  Ameena called to me from the back of the van to turn and look at her.

She was goofing around with a bottle cap and had put it over her right eye, pretending to be wearing a patch. “Wow,” I thought briefly at the time. “I can’t imagine if she had to always wear a patch like that.”

Then, Dr. Davidson brought me back to the present day when he came in to examine Ameena’s eye.  He was very positive and said he is very pleased with how Ameena’s eye looks. We even got to look at it through a side-lens while he did the exam. He said the 5 stitches are holding nicely and he was very proud of her for taking such good care of her eye. The stitches and scar are actually further up on the eye than we originally thought. Instead of coming up from the bottom of the cornea, they actually come down from the top.

He said he is hopeful that, though she will have some scarring, she shouldn’t need any additional surgeries to correct her vision. So, we will hope right along with him.

We walked to the van instead of waiting on the valet, and we praised Ameena about her exam and how well she had taken care of her eye. She seemed pleased and was happy to hear our praises.

So great, right? Lots to celebrate. We should be relieved. And then, on the drive home, the song “Life is Beautiful” by Vega 4 came on. And that was it for me. The tears started to flow…and flow, and they didn’t stop for almost the whole drive back to pick up the kids. Caleb looked at me early on in the song and said, “It’s like the theme song of our year.”

“Life is beautiful, but it’s complicated.
We barely make it.
We don’t need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.”

OK. Confession number 1. I have a hard time actually believing there are miracles. Or maybe my struggle is that I don’t believe that I am somehow good enough to qualify for a miracle. Or, maybe I just don’t give enough credit to the little miracles. You know, that maybe there are actually miracles all around me and I just don’t see them for what they are.

Also, I see people pray for miracles all the time, and they don’t always happen. I’m praying for Ameena’s eye to be healed (as are A LOT of other people) but when I have friends who have had to take their baby off of life support, or watch their mother die of horrible cancer, or whose kids live with chronic illnesses and debilitating diseases, how am I to believe that Ameena’s eye sight is somehow more important? There is a lot of really bad crap in our world, and sometimes I have to throw my arms up in the air with confusion and inner conflict.

“When you run away from harm,
Will you run back into my arms,
Like you did when you were young?
Will you come back to me?

I will hold you tightly
When the hurting kicks in.”

And, then I remember God’s promises, his desire to draw us closer to him, and his unending love. As Ameena would say, “Infinity and beyond!” He doesn’t promise that there will be no suffering, in fact, he promises just the opposite. And much of the comfort comes in knowing that no matter how much suffering we have to endure, he stands with us, holds us, and actually has experienced far greater.

And, he’s calling to me, “Will you run back to my arms? Will you come back to me?”

“Life is beautiful, but it’s complicated,
we barely make it.
We don’t need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.”

That part about not needing to understand…that one gets me. If you know me well, you know that I like to take a situation apart, and analyze it until I understand. It can drive a person crazy. Just ask my husband. In a conflict or relationship, I want to understand the other person, what makes them tick, what their deep hurts and their even deeper longings are. I also want to understand those things about myself and how that impacts others. But many times, I don’t understand and I have to trust and believe that someone greater than me does.

And while we’re at it, I don’t want to “just barely make it,” but reality has been just that in this past year.

“Stand where you are.
We let all these moments pass us by.”

This is one of the things that I am currently learning a lot about in our life situation. The past one and a half years has been financially grueling, and tough in so many other ways. There’s no breathing room and there has been a whole new level of learning how to find contentment and faith, regardless of circumstances. And in many ways, I have been content, strangely comfortable living in the tension. Not needing a whole lot, amazed at how much we already have, and how little we can survive on.

“It’s amazing where I’m standing,
There’s a lot that we can give.
This is ours just for a moment.
There’s a lot that we can give.”

And, so timely were Hugh’s encouraging words on Sunday morning. Our entire community stood to pray for Ameena. Our friends came around us to uphold us and stand in the gap on our behalf. And then, Hugh delivered words that we could rightly agree with, and in a strange way become excited about. He shared Jen’s vision of lying just beneath the surface of water, as if dormant. But, now is the time – “It’s ours just for a moment.” There is an awakening that has begun, and “There is a lot that we can give!”

One of the pictures given in our Potter’s Wheel community is to work on getting the log out of your own eye so that you can see to help others. This concept has always seemed like such a strange one to me. A log? If I found an actual log in my eye, the thought of removing it seems absolutely horrendous. A little like what we’ve experienced with our sweet daughter. But, what has occurred to me over the past few days is that removing the log and being able to see, though it involves pain, actually requires a ton of healing in the process. For Ameena to be able to see, she doesn’t just have to have something removed, her body has to then go on and heal itself. And in this, there is hope. There will always be a scar. But, in that scar, there is remembrance, and reverence.

Ameena is free to go about her normal activities without her eye patch. We’ll still have her wear it at night, and either the patch or sunglasses when she does any sports (though I have to say I’m not quite ready for tree climbing and bike riding). The only thing he said to avoid is the swimming pool due to risk of infection.

Currently the follow-up surgery to remove the stitches is scheduled for 10/21 but we hope to move it up at least a week, which the doctor thinks will be necessary as the stitches may dislodge by then.

I still cry over things like Free Willy, someone else’s child struggling with the first day of kindergarten, watching our church community welcome a new baby and remembering when my children were small enough to tuck in to a sling, close to my chest, where they couldn’t hurt themselves.  And, I know this is only just the beginning of letting go.

And I realize -  I can keep them tucked away close to me, trying to keep them from getting hurt.  But, in trying to protect them from great pain, I would also hinder them from experiencing great joy, that often comes in the journey through that pain.

Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment