Eyes to See

For the past month, I’ve been encouraging my radio listeners to start their day by asking God to give them eyes to see His work. And now—here I am, facing a journey that quite literally challenges my ability to see.

A rare eye cancer. Radiation sewn onto my eye. A process of learning to trust my weaker eye. Cognitive dissonance. The possibility of double vision. These are all realities I’m walking into, yet I can’t shake the irony—or perhaps, the divine orchestration—of how God is weaving this moment into something bigger than I understand.

I’ve been thinking a lot about light. Not just the searing, painful light from my eye treatments, but the light of God—the unapproachable light that surrounds His throne. Paul described it in 1 Timothy 6: “In the sight of God, who gives life to everything …—God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever.”

We talk about God’s light as something warm, illuminating, comforting. And it is. But it is also blinding. Overwhelming. Holy. It reveals the truth so completely that we cannot stand under its weight.

Timothy, the apostle, received a letter from Paul about his assignment in Ephesus: to keep speaking truth despite the fallacy that was alongside it. Seeing truth, and trusting in it is a journey that walking forward will prove — our journey has always been rife with a tug-o-war of speculation and clarity (testing out the double vision), until we are able to ignore the path that isn’t there at all—a figment of our imagination, a cognitive dissonance in exchange for a focal point on Truth.

I’ve spent my life using my eyes to edit, to create, to see detail and beauty in my work. But now, God is inviting me into a deeper kind of sight—one that goes beyond the physical. The journey ahead will require me to relearn how to see. To distinguish what is real from what is false. To trust in the truth, even when my own perception falters.

And isn’t that what faith has always been? A process of testing out the double vision, learning to ignore the distractions, and fixing our eyes on what is true.

So today, I pray for healing. For my eye to be restored. For the cancer to shrink and die. For my vision to remain clear. But even more than that, I pray that God will continue to give me eyes to see—to see His hand in all of this, to see past the illusions, and to fix my gaze on His unshakable truth.