You have cried from your heart, and He has heard you. The thing you are frightened about, the health of your body, the light in your eyes, is not hidden from Him, even while you tremble in the dark. Please, you say. That is a word a little child uses when it has no more strength left in itself, and that is well, for the Lord loves to hear that small, earnest cry. It is the bruised reed speaking, and He will not snap it.
Think of the frightened disciples on the lake. The winds were howling, the waves were beating into the boat, and the Master, the very one who had told them to cross over, was asleep on a cushion. They thought they would perish, and He seemed not to care. But He was with them all the while. He was in the same vessel. The water that splashed their faces splashed His. And when they woke Him, He did not rebuke their fear first; He silenced the storm, and then He asked them gently why their faith was so small. So it is with you now: He may seem quiet, but He is with you in the boat, and you will not go down. He who keeps you neither slumbers nor sleeps, even when He seems to. Your fear does not separate you from Him; it makes you cling to Him more desperately, and that is where He delights to find you.
I want you to understand something about the gentleness of your Savior. You feel like a bruised reed, like something that was once whole and upright but is now bent, almost broken, trembling in the wind. The world would pass by a bruised reed and think it worthless, fit only to be trampled. But the Lord Jesus does not break the bruised reed. He handles it with such tenderness, He touches the fracture, and He binds it up. He does not quench the smoldering flax, either. Your faith may not be a bright, leaping flame just now; it may be only a tiny wisp of smoke, a spark almost drowned in tears. He will not blow it out. He cups His hand around it and breathes upon it until it glows again. That is His special office: not to scorn your weakness, but to cherish it into strength.
Your eyesight, oh, that is a precious thing to lose. I will not pretend the prospect is not frightening. But I want you to remember that even if the outward eye were to grow dim, the inward eye can grow clearer. There are many of the Lord’s most precious saints who have walked through this valley, and they have found that when one window was shuttered, another was thrown wide open to the light of His countenance. The Lord Jesus is the Sun of Righteousness, and on those who fear His name, He rises with healing in His wings. The leaves of the tree of life are for the healing of the nations, and He has healing for your body and for your soul, in His own time and way. He knows your frame; He remembers that you are dust. He does not expect you to face this without trembling. But He does hold out His pierced hand in the dark and say, “Fear not, only believe.”
Let your fear drive you to Him, not away from Him. When a little bird is frightened, it does not fly from its refuge, it flies to it. Be like that. Tell Him everything. Say, “Lord, I am afraid. I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know what the doctor will say. But You know all things; You know that I love You, and I cast myself upon Your care.” He is never offended by honest need. He never turns away a trembling soul. He has bound up many a broken heart, and He has light for every dark passage.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, You who opened blind eyes and unstopped deaf ears, look upon this one who calls to You in fear. You know the trembling of the heart, the dread of what may come. Stand alongside in this hour. Be the hand in the dark. Quiet the storm within, and let there be a great calm. If it pleases You, restore health and preserve sight; but above all, cause the light of Your face to shine so brightly that every other fear fades away. Hold fast what belongs to You, and bring this dear soul safely through every deep water, until faith is turned to sight. Amen.