I had eye surgery last week. It seemed like a good idea, since I had just been up with my daughter for two days straight while she was in the hospital trying to deliver her first baby, came home for one day to try to help my youngest get stuff together for high school and the next oldest get ready to leave for BYU this week, and then spent a night with the new parents after they got home from the hospital. I think I high-fived my husband somewhere in there as he was returning from a trip. Why not slip in a little PRK with all of that? They say if you need something done ask someone busy, right?

The first day was fantastic! I woke up and could see the clock! And I could still read. It wasn’t perfect, but I was still amazed that my eyes had gone from the level of that girl in Adventures In Babysitting who thinks she’s petting a cat, to someone who could see her husband making faces at her across the room.

Day two, post-op, still pretty good. A little bit of blurriness and haze. But I could still read AND see the clock.

Day three, what clock? Also, I know this thing in my hand has words from people on the screen, but I CANNOT SEE ANY OF THEM. Now, I’m this guy:

I know this is all normal and expected, but if you know me, you know that I am a bookworm. Like the Hungry Caterpillar kind. I read constantly. My mom read to us from birth, and every naptime and bedtime, and now, even if I’ve been up for two days, I still have to read something to fall asleep. Plus, I’m always in the middle of like three different books. So being unable to read was more than disappointing. It was discouraging. No matter how bad my near-sightedness had gotten over my lifetime, I have still been able to see BOOKS. They are my friends.

Being stuck at home, feeling dizzy, headachy, blind and kind of helpless, you would think I would reach out to Heavenly Father for help. You would be wrong. I just “wallowed in my own self-loathing” Grinch-style and bemoaned the fact that I might never get out of this state. Ridiculous, I know, but I am ridiculously human and sometimes I don’t ask for divine help when I need it. Because, seriously, God has bigger things to deal with than my first world, completely elective, non-insured eye surgery.

Day three was Sunday, by the way. And I was having difficulties just navigating to the bathroom. Church was out of the question. So in the afternoon, my husband came home and told me to get dressed because he and one of his counselors were going to bring the sacrament to me. I always thought of the sacrament being taken to someone at home was for people in really dire straits. Like dying. Or having cancer. Or dying. I was not dying. But as these two good men came and reverently knelt in our living room, and broke and blessed the bread, and the water, I was reminded so clearly of what an individual thing salvation is. We can’t do it without each other, obviously, but covenants are made and kept as individuals.

The Atonement of Jesus Christ is that most glorious of paradoxes that I try to understand with my small, simple and temporal mind. It is at once infinite-applying to everyone, and yet individual, so that the Savior knows every heartache and headache of my life as if it were His own. He knows how I feel, as a mother of three girls that this past week became a new college student, a new high school student and a new mother.(Respectively. Because that would be crazy to have that all happen to just one of them.) He knows my anxiety and guilt and worry that I cannot be there for each of them in all the ways I want to be. He knows how helpless I feel that there are so many struggles and burdens I want to help others carry, but I can only do the very minimum for myself. He knows what a freaking headache (literally) it is for me to type this with one eye closed. (Not for showing off purposes. For actual I-can’t-always-read-or-see the screen type purposes. And while we’re on the subject, why do people say, “I can do it with my eyes closed!”? Can you, though? I’m finding it necessary to close my eyes for a good portion of my day, and there are NOT a lot of productive things you can actually do with your eyes closed.) He knows that every time I talk to my dad, I worry it might be the last. He knows that I doubt my resilience and my strength and that I feel like I’m getting an A-, and as we all know…

And also, this

Isn’t this really what we’re worried about? It’s always my worry-that I can’t succeed enough to make it. And that right there is where the adversary gets me every time-the thought that I need to succeed.

The reality is, I can’t. Not on my own. And the sacrament helps to remind me that I don’t have to earn the Savior’s grace. The very act of partaking of the bread and water that is brought to me, is a symbol of the love HE has for me. One of my favorite hymns is I Stand All Amazed. The first few lines say

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,

Confused at the grace that so fully He proffers me.

This grace is not being offered, it is being proffered to me. The difference in those two words is not just the letters “p” and “r”. It is the delivery method of the grace that is different. Offering is saying, “Hey, there’s some stuff for you in the fridge. Proffering is like an elaborate feast, which is brought to where you are and lovingly served by its creator. When I took the sacrament this past Sunday, no matter who was physically performing this ordinance. it was Christ, himself, who brought His grace to me and offered it. I matter enough, and so do you, that He wants the representation of it to be an individual invitation to let go of my burdens, mistakes, and worries. To be clean. To feel hope. But most importantly, to feel His love for me as an individual. To someone He knows all the worst, flawed, inexcusable behavior about. Yet He is still going to give me, Tami Grouchypants Pyper, not only the chance to try to be like Him, but access to His power so that I can. That power is there, all day, every day.

I’ve thought a lot about blindness, miracles, and grace this week. The surgery I had is miraculous. It is restoring my sight. Just not instantly. Well, pretty much instantly. But even this miracle, I can take for granted and even complain about! It’s like I’m with the Israelites wandering in the desert. Their food FELL FROM THE SKY, but they complained-because they became accustomed to the miracle. My frustration with my struggles this week is like me saying, “Hey! This stuff is great! But could we get a little variety instead of just manna-flavored manna? How about a nice Belgian chocolate flavor? Or mint?And let’s make Tuesday taco flavored!”

I know. It’s ridiculous. But so am I. You could even say I’ve been spiritually blind. Especially when I forget that everything good and amazing and even miraculous takes time. But grace is there every step of the way, if I will just reach out. And so is the Savior–there, reaching out, not just offering, but bringing to me His power. As I’ve tried to remember that, I’ve found my spiritual vision has developed more clarity and focus.

Interesting fact: I’ve noticed that the one thing I can’t do very well yet is see my own face in the mirror. And that is totally ok. Because if I can focus on others, and, especially, on Christ, that’s all I need to see.

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