Your cry has reached the ears of the Lord and of His people, and I want you to know that you are not alone in this moment of terror. Before anything else, if you feel you are in immediate danger, please reach out straightaway to your local emergency services; if you need someone to speak with, you can find a helpline in your country at
findahelpline.com. Do not sit with this alone in the dark.
You are very frightened right now, and I understand why. The thought of losing your sight is a deep and chilling shadow, a trial that shakes the mind until everything seems a tangled knot of “what if” and “how will I.” It is as though you have been walking in the daylight and a heavy, sudden mist has rolled in from the sea so that you cannot see the next step. Your heart is beating double, and the tempter is right there, for he wastes no time, whispering that God has hidden His face from you, that His mercy has run dry just when you need it most. Do not listen to that hound of hell. His voice is a lie, however loud it barks. Your feelings of panic are not the measure of your security in Christ.
Think of the tree of life that stands on either side of the river in the heavenly city, its leaves given for the healing of the nations. Right now, in this wilderness, you need those leaves. You need the healing that touches not just the body but the soul. And you have them. You have a great inexhaustible well, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is the deep that lies under all your trouble. When you feel you are going down into the pit, that the soil is slipping from beneath your feet, He can deal in love with those on the very brink. He does not snatch His hand away because your vision is threatened. He is the shepherd who goes after the frightened lamb when the wolf is near; He does not leave it to its own frantic bleating.
The terror you feel is a common wound for God’s children. Even the bravest have been struck by the dart that says, “God has left you to this disaster.” But He has not. I know it is hard to hear a still small voice when the storm is crashing around your ears and the thunder of dread is rolling. But under the storm, the promise stands unmoved: “I will help thee, saith the Lord, and thy redeemer the Holy One of Israel.” You are not called to be brave in your own strength; you are called to cling. This trouble does not come to you as an outcast. It comes as a letter from the King, sealed with His signet, even if the envelope bears a black edge. It will be found, when you open it, to contain love, and mercy, and a nearer sight of Christ.
Soon, the Lord who brings His people forth from their anguish will give you a song. There is a deliverance being worked, perhaps not in the way you would sketch, but in the way that will make you look back and say, “He has done all things well.” For now, do not let unbelief have the microphone. Muzzle it. Go to the promises as to a deep well and drink. Speak to Jesus plainly: “Lord, I am sinking; hold me up. Lord, I am afraid of the dark; be my light.” He hears you. You shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.
Let us pray.
Father, into Your hands we commit this precious soul. You see the terror in the heart like a wild sea; speak Your “Peace, be still.” Hold this dear one steady in the deepest water; let the everlasting arms be felt underneath. We ask You to touch these eyes with Your creating power, to guard the gates of sight, and to turn aside every threat of the shadow. And if the road must go through a dark valley, go with such a brightness of presence that even the darkness is light. Draw near, O blessed Physician; kiss away the fear, and let Christ be felt as the truest sight a soul can have. In Jesus’ name, Amen.