May 9, 2021
While I folded laundry, Joe, my four-year-old son, and his friend played with Lego’s on the family room floor.
“My mom has eyes at the ends of her fingertips,” Joe said to his friend.
I chuckled at first, but then marveled at his insight. He was absolutely right. After losing my sight, I used my hands to feel my surroundings, find items in the kitchen, sort the family’s clothing and pick up toys from the floor.
Seeing the world through my fingertips.
In reality, my whole world became “seen” by my fingertips. When I touched something, the image was immediately transmitted to my brain, allowing me to see with my mind. Eventually, I learned to use my other senses so I could still be a mommy to my little ones.
Although I managed the chores, the idea of living the rest of my life without sight kept me awake at night. And during the day, my muscles tensed each time I tested and noticed my diminishing side vision. At first, it narrowed to the size of a keyhole. I pleaded and begged God to allow that vision, though small, to remain so I could still see their smiles.
Some afternoons, while my youngest son napped, I’d stare at his features, attempting to memorize every detail—his long eyelashes against his chubby olive cheeks. His curly hair that framed his round face.
With tears blurring my diminishing vision, I engraved those images in my aching heart. Uncertain of the length of time I’d have that tiny amount of sight, the rope of anxiety and worry choked me.
There was no hope.
And ophthalmologists dug more anxiety as they offered no hope. One told us to wait for the inevitable. And he was right. A few months later, my retina stopped working and my vision closed in completely.
I was horrified.
The gray nothing before my eyes shoved me into a dark prison. “Why me, Lord!” I cried out.
After weeks and weeks of sobbing and asking and begging, God wasn’t silent like I imagined. His answers came gently tucked in verses of the Bible.
I listened to them with my heart. After I put my three sons to bed, I put on my headphones. My heart delighted in God’s promises. My soul drank His comfort. And my mind embraced His teachings.
He taught me the correct order of priorities. I realized my sons needed me more than I needed my sight.
What I really needed…
That’s when I recognized what I desperately needed was to trust not in my own abilities, but in God’s ability to provide the guidance and help I needed.
And one by one He did just that. Armed with a new attitude, a greater trust in Him, and a deeper faith, I rolled up my sleeves and took on the task to care for my 4-, 6- and 8-year-old sons.
And that care took energy as they were healthy and active. With each of their moves, my ears became tuned to their every sound, alerting me to their constant antics or whimpers of pain.
Within that busy schedule, learning Braille dropped to the bottom of my list of priorities. Unable to see, the daily tasks of running the house took twice as long to finish and left me drained.
Although exhausted, I still found creative ways to get things done. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor barefoot. This way, my feet picked up any crumbs or sticky spots I’d missed.
My memory also developed. I memorized lists of phone numbers. I needed them so I could call other moms for rides, for updates in school activities.
That sharper memory also helped me to find the location of items in the pantry. When hubby brought groceries home, I wrapped rubber bands around certain cans. I placed boxes of cereal, cake mix, etc. in specific places on the shelves.
My taste buds and sense of smell also became more acute as I invented my own recipes.
One day, as I stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove, I sensed a chocolate aroma near me. “Come here young man,” I ordered my six-year-old. “What are you eating?”
“Nothing,” he said, his voice muffled, no doubt trying to hide something.
I drew closer as the smell of chocolate wafted even stronger. I held out my hand. “Give me those M&Ms. It’s dinner time.”
They soon learned Mom was still in control. Often, I wondered if they truly knew I saw nothing. But I knew what my heart saw—a lesson my sons would learn from their mom who couldn’t see. I’d teach them with my attitude, a sense of humor and most of all, trust, complete trust in God to show me what to do.
With your permission, I will now switch from my story to you.
You may not be encountering physical blindness, but you may possibly be blinded by the world’s standards. Or by the culture’s message that repeat we need to be great moms, cool in every way, strive for perfection and do anything so our kids lack nothing. Lies, all lies from the enemy. He wants to steal your peace and pour anxiety into your days.
On the other hand, God longs to pour reassurance and confidence. They arrive when, in the midst of the turmoil, we invite God to be our divine partner.
We don’t need more pressure or more posts on social media. A Mom’s greatest need is to partner with God. Through the eyes of His love, He watches our every move, He knows our deepest secrets. He’s familiar with our ways. He sees the guilt that nags, the flaws we try to hide, the mistakes that steal our joy. He even knows the insecurities that echo in the silence of night.
He knows it all, Yet, when morning comes, we pour a cup of stress and head on our way. That’s when fear visits. We fear we don’t measure up. We fear we’re not doing enough. And sometimes, we fear we’re inadequate moms.
But God, our Divine Partner says, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10).
We don’t have to fear. He’s with us when we doubt. He lifts us when we fall. And He holds us when we fail.
Father, Thank You for granting me the confidence I need to be a Mom, secure because You are with me. In Jesus’ name I thank you.
What is your greatest need as a Mom?
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