I can hear the tremor in your words, and it comes through as clearly as if you were sitting right here, gripping the arm of the chair. Your whole plea rushes out in that one long, desperate word, and I do not brush past it. You are afraid. That is no small thing. Our eyes are such tender gates to the world, when something threatens them, the darkness feels very near and very personal. So let us speak plainly of it and then lift our eyes together to the One who made those eyes of yours and knows every nerve and fiber.
The Lord Jesus, when He walked among us, did not pass by the blind. It was one of the sweet signatures of His ministry. A man born blind sat begging, and Christ anointed his eyes with clay and sent him to wash, and he came back seeing. Two blind men cried out after Him in the street, and He stopped. He asked them a question, and they told Him what they wanted. And the record says He was moved with compassion and touched their eyes. Mark that, touched their eyes. The hand that flung the stars across the sky came down as gentle as a mother’s hand to rest upon a blind man’s eyelids. He is the same Christ today. He has not lost His tenderness nor His power. He is the Good Physician still.
I know that waiting is very hard, and that not knowing what will come makes the mind race ahead into dark tomorrows. But you are not in tomorrow yet. You are in today, and today your Heavenly Father is holding you. Think of a little child who wakes in the night, frightened by a sound she cannot name. She does not need to understand the sound. She does not need to diagnose it. She needs her father’s voice and her father’s hand. And when he comes and sits beside her bed and says, “It’s all right, I am here,” the fear melts, not because the noise has been explained, but because someone who loves her is near. Your Father says to you now, “Fear not, I am with you.” That is not a scolding. It is the hushing of a child in the dark.
You may have noticed how thickly those two words, “Fear not,” are sown through the Scriptures. They are like stars you begin to notice when you walk out into the night, first one, then another, then a whole sky full of them. The Lord does not throw them out carelessly. He knows how prone we are to shake. He knows the particular terror that rises when the body falters. And so He puts His “Fear nots” where we will stumble upon them, like a mother leaving a lighted candle in the hallway so her frightened child can see the way to her room. This fear you feel does not surprise Him, and it does not anger Him. He draws near to the broken and the trembling.
Meanwhile, put your case honestly into His hands, as you have already begun to do. You have cried out to Him, that long, stretched-out plea is itself a prayer. You do not need fine words. The paralytic in the Gospels could not move hand or foot, but he believed Jesus could heal him, and that faith, simple, needy, wordless faith, drew Christ’s notice. The Lord is not waiting for you to compose yourself and speak like a theologian. Your fear-soaked cry is music to His ear because it is the sound of a soul that knows where its help must come from.
I will pray for your eyesight with all my heart, and I will ask that even now, before the answer is fully seen, Christ would quiet you with His own peace. That is a mercy He often gives before the outward healing comes, an inward hush, a stillness in the center of the storm. You are not adrift without anchor. The One who holds the worlds also holds you.
Let us go to Him together.
Lord Jesus, this dear one is frightened tonight. The dark has crept close, and the thought of losing sight has made the heart shake. You know how precious these windows of the body are. You who opened blind eyes by a touch and a word, look now upon Your child in tender mercy. Quiet the racing thoughts. Steady the trembling heart. And if it be Your gracious will, restore what is failing and make these eyes strong again. But above all, give the peace that passes understanding, the deep confidence that whether in seeing or in shadows, You are near and You are good. We commit this fear into Your scarred hands, for no hand is safer. Amen.