The Eyes Have It

Where were these contacts when I was 13?!

Last night we decided to beat the heat and head into Olympia to see a movie.  It was 81 degrees in the house and still in the 90s outside. We decided to go see “Brave”.  The kids were thrilled.  We almost never go out to movies as a family.  We loaded up into the car, backed down the driveway…and I promptly poked myself in the eye with the arm of my sunglasses.


It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that my contact moved.  It happens sometimes. I did a cursory check of my eye.  Generally, if you have gas permeable lenses (you know who you are!), they move around on your eye, getting stuck in the crevice near your tear duct or up higher on your schlera, right under your eye lid.  It’s awesome!  And you have to rub your eye, manipulating it under the lid,  in order to move it. Or, if you’re not too squeamish and rather coordinated, you can peel it off your eye and reinsert it over the cornea where it belongs. I can do that, but I’ve been wearing contacts for more than 20 years.

The only time contacts move is when the eye is super dry or for some reason they’re not sitting correctly on the eye.  My right eye had been bugging me a bit for a couple of days.  I should’ve seen it coming.  No pun intended.

I looked down at my shirt and shorts.  Nothing.  A visual search of the floor revealed nothing.  I knew better than to stand up and shake myself, as I could step down on it and crunch its little plastic heart.  Jonathon had me roll over towards his seat and he looked under me.  He had walked around the car by this time and opened my car door, looking between the seat and the door.  We found nothing.

At this point, we were risking being late for the movie, which we figured to be packed due to all the other Washingtonians trying to escape the incredibly kiln-like temps.  I reluctantly went back in the house after scouring the area carefully again.  I needed to take out my left lens and put on my glasses so I could watch the movie in dual vision instead of mono-vision. 

Those of you know have known me awhile know that I’ve lost lenses before.  I lost one during the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 while at Bethany.  I’ve dropped them on the floor of the bathroom in our suite in Harp Hall.  Thank God for patient dormmates!  The wayward lenses almost always turned up, glittering from the floor like disc-shaped diamonds. 

This time, I felt hopeless.  I dutifully cleaned the left lens then put it to bed in the case.  I automatically filled both chambers of the lens case with fluid.  Old habits die hard.

I put on my brave face, trying not to think about having to buy a replacement contact and wearing my glasses to workout and run in for a week or two.  I walked over to the car where the family patiently waited.  I opened the door to sit down.  I swung my leg into the seat. Jonathon was still looking around.

“Stop!” he commanded.

I stopped.

“I found it!” he exclaimed.  Reaching down, he plucked it off my right leg.  It was stuck there. 

Hallelujah.  I don’t think I’ve ever been  thankful for sweat. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles.  They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I know I had been wondering where God was lately, not really sensing His presence anywhere.  He was with me all the time. May I be able to “see” Him more clearly, every day.

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