What I Saw Today

Every day is a new day of discovery! God’s world, both physical and spiritual, is filled with wonder. Come explore God’s world with me as I see it for the first time.

June 6, 2016 by Karen Wingate Leave a Comment

Gain Worth The Pain: Keeping Your Eyes On The End

How am I doing after my eye surgery ? I’m keeping my eyes fixed on the goal of better vision.

It’s been a rough recovery. Not complaining, just reporting. In a recent blog, I told how quoting a number of bible verses helped endure the initial surgery. In some respects, the recovery has been equally if not more difficult. During the surgery under local anesthesia, the retina specialist gave me the hope I needed to pull me through the rougher days.

He told me he found and took liberties to repair more than the torn retina. I was born with congenital cataracts in the olden days when doctors thought removing cataracts from a baby’s eyes would pull out the entire eyeball. Over eight childhood surgeries, doctors did a “couching” procedure where the cataract was stirred up with a needle. They hoped the cataract would dissolve on its own. Instead, surgeries left my eyes with a debris field of lens fragments and a mangled, tiny pupil in my left eye. The surgeon was able to clean out the debris and enlarge the pupil. “I’m normally cautious and don’t like to give people false hope,” he told me during the surgery. “But I think I can guarantee that you will have better vision than you have ever had.”

After my surgery , I must heard three different health professionals tell me, “Do what you are told and you will see better.” Part of retina surgery involves insertion of a gas bubble that seals the retina, giving it time to heal. The patient must lay face down—I my case, a quarter turn to the right—for at least a week, until the bubble dissolve and the natural fluids of the eye replenish. If a patient with a torn retina wants to have restored vision, they have to do this–to the letter.I was sent home with instructions to lay on my right side, nose down, 80% of the time for an entire week and to do nothing. Don’t lift anything. Don’t bend, don’t read, no computer. Nothing. After one week, the face down restriction was lifted but still do nothing. If you do what you are told, your vision will get better.

I will be honest. The extended surgery done under local anesthesia was a test in endurance in and of itself.. Recovery was uncomfortable, painful and tedious. Just when I thought I was going to be freed from “jail” as I called my do-nothing restrictions, my eye pressure spiked and inflammation flared because my fragile eye protested being messed with. Sutures designed to dissolve had a mind of their own and waved horse hair like fragments across my nerve studded cornea. A parade of church folk came to stay with me while my husband was at work. They brought food, flowers, cookies and conversation to fill my hours and after two weeks, I stumbled to church, clutching my husband’s arm. I swallowed my pride at church people having to see me disheveled, weak, and helpless.

Friends were more than compassionate. They lamented how difficult it must be and wondered how I could stand it. Ah! Every time I was about to throw my doughnut shaped pillow across the room or swipe my array of eye drop bottles into the trash, I thought about the joy set before me – the joy of improved sight. I lay awake at night, trying to imagine—what will I be able to see? Haven’t I longerd for better vision all my life? Wasn’t it worth a few days–weeks, months–more to have that improved vision I’ve longed for? Yes! It was worth it.

Joy set before me. Where have I heard those words before? Hebrews 12:2 tells about Jesus’ attitude toward the work he had to do:

Was it tough for Jesus? Unimaginable. Did he ever want to give up? “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done (Mt 26:42).” Why did He do it? Because it was worth it. His end result was so much greater than my promise of renewed sight. Endure the cross and the human race We love is set free, the Father must have whispered, and then you will join me In Heaven’s throne room. The end result was worth the struggle. The gain was worth the pain.

My friend, Nancy, understands this too. A veteran Sunday School teacher, Nancy has endured the rebellion and disrespect of many children. She’s been ignored, disobeyed, yelled at, and kicked in the shin. She’s watched kids walk out her Sunday School classroom and wondered if they were taking anything with them that she had taught them. “It’s odd,” she told me recently. “It’s the children who gave me the most trouble that reconnect with me years later to let me know how they’re doing.” The gain was worth the pain.

My international prayer partner understands this too. Ministering in a restricted country, he told me how he and other church leaders have bible students lay on the floorboards of a car so they can sneak them into a compound where they can train them to be church leaders. His wife runs church camp programs for children under the nose of the authorities who have outlawed child evangelism. “It’s very dangerous,” my friend told me. “But it’s worth it.”

Fixing our eyes on the end goal gives us the tenacity to overcome the pain and the embarrassment of the moment. The Author of our faith chose to endure horrific pain and disgrace so He could give us a better life. We were worth it. He valued our relationship with His Father so much, He would do whatever it took to get us home. No matter what struggle we face, no matter how we might suffer because of our faith in Christ, we can get through if we look over the top of the current, temporary struggle to the glorified person of Christ, waiting to give us our reward at Heaven’s gate.

Jesus made it through. So can we.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all (2 Cor 4:17).”

The gain is worth the pain.

What have you endured to gain a greater good? Tell us about it.

May 31, 2016 by Karen Wingate Leave a Comment

Why Memorize Scripture?

What do you do when you are caught without your Bible?

Where's my Bible? You might get caught without it. — Where’s my Bible? You might get caught without it.

I grew up with the story about J. Russel Morse who spent several years in solitary confinement in a Chinese prison for the crime of being a missionary. Rumor has it that Morse had committed the entire New Testament to memory. Morse retained his sanity by quoting to himself huge chunks of Scripture he had memorized.

Our elders and teachers told us this story as a motivation for Scripture memory. “You can’t always depend on having your Bible with you,” we were told. “Someday we may be like the people in China and Russia who have had their Bibles taken from them.”

I listened, wide eyed. Imagine a life without a Bible readily available. It seemed unfathomable. While I agreed in principle that it was great Mr. Morse had memorized all that Scripture, the chance of that ever happening to me was beyond remote. Still, through church camp competitions and a special course taught at my church, I did commit a number of individual verses to memory.

I’m so glad I have. The reason for Scripture memory, always apparent in my walk with Christ, never became as clear as in the last few weeks.

Doctors opted to perform my recent surgery for a torn retina under local anesthesia. My family doctor and a former surgical tech assured me I would be sedated enough to be dimly aware of my surroundings without remembering anything afterwards. Wrong. I was “out” for the pain block that numbed the upper left quadrant of my face. Beyond that, I heard, knew, and remembered everything. I saw lights that were lasers and straight green lines that were needles. I heard the doctor ask for a bigger bit-head for his ultrasound instrument. I heard him ask his assistant for suture material. The surgery was lasting longer than he had predicted and he was obviously doing more than he told me he was going to do. I couldn’t take it anymore. I began to repeat some of those Scriptures I had hidden in my heart. The needles and the “shop-talk” slipped to the background.

Here are some of the verses that sustained me during that difficult time of endurance. Perhaps they can help you as well.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from?” – Psalm 121:1 (NIV)

“So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isaiah 41:10

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him
and He will make your paths straight.” – Proverbs 3:5,6

The truth of the matter is this. You don’t know when you may be caught without your Bible or your Bible app on your smartphone. It may not be ripped from you before you enter a jail cell. But you may have your glasses—or your sight—taken from you. You may be strapped to a surgical table or, as I was, face down for a week as your body heals. A power outage or a tornado may silence your smartphone. A traffic accident may fling your phone out of reach. There are many times when your Bible won’t be within easy reach. It may not even be you who is in crisis but someone else who needs you to encourage them with the Word of God. Even if it were in your hands, you wouldn’t know where to turn in times of crisis if you were not familiar with the verses beforehand.

You don’t think you can memorize? Here’s an easy way to do it. Choose one verse, just one. Write it out several times and place it where you will see it. Repeat it to yourself every day, several times a day for seven weeks. Keep reviewing it. Soon, it will be imprinted upon your heart, ready for the Holy Spirit to bring to the forefront of your memory when you need it most.

In spite of the physical and emotional discomfort of being awake during that surgery, I’m glad I was. Near the end, the surgeon spoke to me. “I’m a cautious man and I don’t like to make predictions. But we’ve been able to correct some other problems with your eye and I think I can guarantee that you will see better than you ever have before.”

Psalm 37:4, a verse I’d quoted to sustain me now rose in praise: “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” In the late summer of my life, the Lord is giving me the gift of improved sight. Yes, I’ve wanted better sight all my life, but early on, even as a child, I had surrendered my life as a visually impaired person to the Lord. He was giving me the deepest longing of my heart even though I had told Him years ago that it was all right if I couldn’t as long as He would stay with me.

Share with us. Encourage the rest of us. What verse will you memorize this week? What Bible verse has sustained you when you didn’t have your Bible nearby?

May 10, 2016 by Karen Wingate Leave a Comment

The Grace of Prayer: Someone Whispered My Name

In the silence of the worship service, I heard someone whisper my name.

Before our congregation’s time of prayer in our weekly worship service, my pastor-husband reviewed that week’s prayer list, including my upcoming surgery to repair a detached retina. Following his usual routine, he read a Bible passage and prayed that Scripture over our church family. Then he paused for a silent time of prayer, allowing each of us to intercede for situations and people by name of most concern to us.

Behind me by a couple of rows, someone began to whisper their prayer. I don’t know who it was. I didn’t dare look lest I draw attention to them. Never before had I heard someone pray audibly in our season of silence. I loved it. How encouraging to know someone was actually praying instead of silently waiting for the silence to end. It was a beautiful sound.

I couldn’t hear individual words. I heard only the muffled impassioned voice, pleading with the Father. Then, in the breath before my husband concluded the time of prayer, I distinctly heard my name. Karen Wingate.

My name rose before the Father of Glory and became a glistening dewdrop in the halls of heaven, joining all the other whispered prayers from impassioned hearts, filling Heaven with their fragrance as they poured forth in praise to God. It touched me in that deep spot that is beyond expression and emotion. Someone was praying for me at the highest level of intercessory prayer.

It’s one thing to tell someone we’ll pray for them. Let’s face it, we say that and often forget to actually pray. I’ve done that, have you? Hearing a spoken prayer in our behalf fills our own souls with a sweet fragrance. Someone cares. Someone sacrificed moments of time to pray for me. Someone became Jesus with flesh on and spoke for me before the Father.

Yet there’s still a shackle on my sincerity when I pray aloud for others. Like Ivory soap, my motives are not 100% pure. I’m a writer. I love words. I get entangled in how I word the prayer, hoping I sound eloquent and well, sincere. My highest aim in public prayer is to forget about myself and how I sound. After all the scripted words matter not so much to God as the intent of the heart. My heart is right, but I still sometimes slip into the mode of me getting in the way of myself.

But a whispered prayer, ah! Not done for show but not so silent that a busy mind flits to another thought like did I turn the oven on for the Sunday dinner pot roast? A whispered prayer is deliberate, intentional, directed.

This whispered prayer was for me.

Prayer is a form of grace. Prayer admits someone has a need, a weakness they cannot fix on their own. A need that other humans cannot fix. Prayer admits that this is a God-sized job.

Prayer is an expression of compassion. “Do you see my friend, Karen, Lord? She needs Your help right now.” Prayer is telling the Almighty that you wish a better life or better health for this person regardless of the reasons for how they got in that fix.

Prayer without grace would be no prayer at all. Grace is an undeserved gift. If we refused to pray, we would in essence be saying, “You deserve the trouble you’re in,” “God helps those who help themselves,” or “If you had more faith, God would heal you.” But a prayerful plea says, “I love this person in spite of their flaws and mistakes. I want life to be better and easier for them. God, I want Your agenda for this person instead of my own.”

Prayer is an acknowledgement of faith. Like the four friends who took their paralyzed friend to Jesus, the intercessor in essence says, “I can’t help you but let me take Your need to Someone who can help.” My faith in God’s ability to handle anything is strengthened when I find I am not alone in my faith. Through their prayers for my surgery, others share my confidence that God not only has the capacity to heal my eyes but also has the desire to stay close beside me during recovery, attending to that myriad of details better than any caregiver could ever do.

When I am a recipient of intercessory prayer, my gratitude silences my voice and tiptoes out in the form of tears. I’ve been wrapped in multi-layers of God’s lavish love and embraced by the compassion, mercy, and faith of His family. The prayers of God’s people give me the encouragement I need to run the race set before me. That’s what that whispered prayer did for me.

Who needs your whispered prayer this week?

May 5, 2016 by Karen Wingate 9 Comments

Mammograms: No Matter What

Any woman who gets the call that she needs a retake on her mammogram finds the news unsettling. To get that call in the midst of preparation for surgery for another medical issue–well, that’s where I was this past week.

I’m a private person. I squirm when people talk about mammograms and breast cancer in public. So if you’re like me or if there are any guys in the room, don’t tune me out. This isn’t a story about breast cancer. It’s about the sustaining grace of Christ.

As I’ve shared before, I have multiple eye issues stemming from a genetic defect and side effects from childhood surgery. I’m at high risk for a couple of other eye diseases. My vision is so poor, I’ve wondered if I would be able to identify a new problem for what it was if it ever happened. Last year, I told my ophthalmologist that my vision seemed different. Images were blurry and would “fade out” on me. She thought it was dry eyes but referred me to a retina specialist to get a baseline evaluation. Dr. Reddy discovered I had a small tear in my retina but “there’s nothing we can do about it” since the tear looked like it had been there for some time. Come back in three months, he told me.

I’d always heard a detached retina was an emergency situation. Was everything really ok? Would I notice if the tear got bigger? Was this the beginning of the end of the limited functional vision I’ve enjoyed all my life. I determined to be thankful for the vision God has allowed me to have for 55 years and for all I’ve been able to do, in some respects, more than many sighted people. Every morning after that appointment, I woke up thanking God for allowing me another day of sight and another day of full-to-the-brim activity.

My vision continued to deteriorate. People’s images blurred out on me. Working at the computer produced fatigue and eye strain in less time than it took to type one page of a rough draft. Tasks that I’ve learned to compensate for like meal prep, song leading at church, and walks around my neighborhood now felt like I was swimming upstream against a tide of molasses. I knew something was wrong.

The weeks surrounding my next eye exam were filled with other routine appointments: my yearly mammogram, a podiatrist appointment, a follow-up with my ENT doctor, and a check-up for my dog at the vet clinic. Three days before seeing Dr. Reddy, I went to my mammogram with a group of girlfriends and we grabbed the chance to go out to lunch together. It was a fun day.

Three days later, the retina specialist confirmed my suspicions. The tear had grown bigger. The next step was surgery. It was time to be blunt. “With all my other eye issues, will that be a problem for you?” He was equally blunt. “I can’t make any promises. Your vision might be better. It might stay the same. It might be worse. But I will do the best I can for you.” It was a sober moment.

a face down cushion used for retina surgery patients

He scheduled me for surgery in two weeks. “Clear everything from your calendar for at least one week,” his tech told me. I would spend that week face down, doing nothing.

The last few days have been a flurry of activity as I made preps for my upcoming surgery. As my husband and I took off for yet another appointment, I stopped to get the mail. There was a letter from the hospital about my mammogram.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” Jack asked.

“The hospital said they would call if there was a problem; otherwise I would get a letter telling me everything was all right.”

“Open it anyway.”

I did and there was the news I didn’t want to hear. I needed another check. While we did our errands, we stopped at my doctor’s office. Because of my impending retina surgery, they were able to expedite getting me shoe-horned in the next day. I would have new images taken. The x-rays would be read while I waited. If they came out positive, I would need to stay for a sonogram. That was the plan.

I didn’t think too much about the possibility of positive results. To me, it was nothing more than a hassle in an already busy week. I didn’t need this on top of everything else I had to accomplish.

After taking the films, the x-ray technician put me in a private room to wait for the results, promising to check on me once in a while. I sat in the easy chair and it hit me what I was waiting for. I thought about the women who had sat in that same chair who did get results they didn’t want to hear. While I truly didn’t believe that I had breast cancer, I had to be aware that the possibility existed and I told myself I had to be ready for the next step.

Breast cancer is scary enough by itself. How would I cope with two diagnoses? Which was worse—the thought of dying from cancer or losing my vision? How would I cope if, worst case scenario, I had to go through both cancer treatment and eye surgery?

I opened my IPAD to check Facebook. My profile page was flooded with well wishes, suggestions for recovery, and promises of prayer for my upcoming retina surgery. Someone had posted an announcement of a special prayer meeting for me and my surgery for the following Tuesday evening. My blog about Mother’s Day that I had posted that morning was getting an unusual number of hits. The affirmation of my ministry and encouragement and love from so many wonderful friends couldn’t have come at a better time. Or ironic, I thought, as I looked down my front at my dopey little hospital vest.

I opened Facebook Messenger. A message waited from my husband. Call me, it read.

Jack told me he had received a phone call from a minister whom I had interviewed for a recent magazine article. The minister went on and on for ten minutes, praising the article and telling how their church had ordered extra copies of the magazine three times.

I put down the phone and stared into the quiet room. I am not done with you yet, the thought cut into my busy brain. People were reading and reacting to my writing. My Bible study ladies, those I had led for several years, were the ones organizing the prayer meeting. Many women would have felt so alone in that little room. To me, the space suddenly felt claustrophobic, crowded with dozens, even hundreds of people who were being influenced by my work and who were in turn encouraging me and lifting my needs to the Father. The love and compassion I felt was overwhelming.

So there I sat in my little gown, clutching the folds to keep from embarrassing myself, moisture rimming my eyes. I smiled at the mental image of myself. I could imagine the tech walking in at that moment, finding me in tears. She would immediately assume I was crying for the same reason other women had cried before me, out of fear and worry that something was terribly wrong. Yet, if she asked what was the matter, I would have blubbered, “I’m so happy and so touched.”

Yes, honey, that you are. Definitely touched. She wouldn’t understand. But I did, and it was worth every bit of spending ten minutes in a small room, wondering about my future.

Trouble comes in threes, we often hear said, and sometimes in sevens. When it comes to stress filled, anxiety producing moments, our brains tend to compartmentalize, rationalizing we can handle only one crisis at a time. No more, Lord, no more. This is my limit. Do you ever catch yourself saying that?

You and I may not be big enough or strong enough to carry more than one life crisis at a time. Our strength has its limits. Not God. His strength is unlimited, His endurance infinite. He can juggle countless balls in the air. His ears will never grow tired of our cries for His help. In the scheme of things, all those issues that loom at a 10x magnification in our nearsightedness are pin prick sized dots on the fabric of eternity.

Even if the results of the second mammogram were positive, even if my eyesight worsened, it was all right. God is not done with me yet. He will still speak through me and use my life as a megaphone of His sustaining grace. No matter what happened, we—my Lord and I—would deal with it and it would be all right.

The words of 2 Corinthians 4:17 say it best:

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.”

These events were one-time rocks in my life-journey, blips on the radar. God’s redemptive use of the blips and rocks of our lives promise to leave a lasting impact on this world and the next. God knew what was happening to me and He had it all under control.

I do ask for your prayers. I ask you to pray for my husband. Keeping me on my tummy for a week and keeping me from doing anything will take a lot of persistence, grace, and patience. Jack does not have an easy job before him! Pray most of all that God will be glorified, that my surgery will turn out in such a way that the doctor and others have no other recourse than to say, “This has to be of God.” Pray that the surgery will save my functional vision.

The results of my mammogram? It was normal. I’m relieved. But you know what? Even if it wasn’t normal, we would have made it through. It would have been all right. No matter what happens, I am His and He is mine.

If you are curious, here is a great information sheet about retina detachment.