The Cool Washcloth of Surrender

As her son’s medical needs and vision challenges continue, Carmen Lappe considers where she struggles to see spiritually.  

Last fall, I was struck with an infection in both eyes. More than itchy, red, and watery, my eyes hurt. Keeping them open at work took a great deal of strength and when I arrived home, I could do nothing but lie down with an ice-cold cloth covering the top half of my face. It occurred to me then how much I take for granted the gift of sight; how much I rely on the gift of seeing for everything.   

These feelings have flooded over me again as I watch my son struggle with his vision. If he’s coloring, his note grazes the paper so he can see where to move the crayon. If he’s doing puzzles on his tablet, he has the screen within inches of his face to see where to place the next piece. While our daughter sits back comfortably to watch a movie, Damien is seated front and center to make sure he doesn’t miss any of the action.  

We Can’t See What the Future Will Bring  

It’s heartbreaking to see him struggle with something so essential for everyday life. What’s more, we are unsure how much the tumor and chemotherapy have impacted his vision long-term, and if the immunotherapy he’s currently on will be able to recover any of the sight that’s been lost. While things appear to be trending positively, we don’t know what the future will bring for our boy.   

As I pray about what lies ahead for Damien and what his vocation in life might be, I wonder if his vision will be a hindrance. I pray he’s able to fulfill whatever God calls him to — but of course, I still wonder, and worry. I find myself anxiously straining to see what lies ahead; to see what God is asking of us. Whether it’s next week’s appointment or 10 years down the road, spiritually, I feel like I have my nose to the paper, trying desperately to see.  

I would love to model Gemma’s actions of sitting back and taking it as it comes with a singular focus on the one task at hand. This simplicity seems almost radical when contrasted with my life’s demands. But as the weeks tick by and the trips to Iowa City continue, I think that this simplicity is the greatest lesson to be learned. A dear priest friend recently reminded me of the Surrender Novena, and its daily refrain of “Jesus, you take care of it” has deeply resonated with me.  

My Small Act of Surrender  

My prayer is that this small act of surrender can help me relax my straining eyes and loosen my grip on the desire to know what’s next; to truly let Jesus take care of it. After all, Damien belongs to Him and He wants to take care of it.  As much as I yearn for him to be restored to the fullness of health, on my timeline, the author of all life is the only one who can bring about a resurrection of healing in our boy.   

As he passed by he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” 
Jesus answered, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.” (John 9:1-3) 

So that the works of God might be made visible through him. These words from the evangelist cut to my heart and fill me with tremendous hope! While we continue to pray for Damien’s healing, can we also pray that, no matter the outcome, God’s glory would be revealed? Without question, yes! God’s constant, abundant grace has carried us to this moment, and will continue to sustain us in each moment to come. 

My son is not blind, and no sin of my husband’s or mine directly caused this illness. But I truly believe in Jesus’ power to not only physically heal Damien’s body, but also His desire to heal my spiritual shortsightedness! Maybe the key is to just receive the cool washcloth of surrender.   

If I can surrender to Jesus' abiding love for me in each moment, and just focus on whatever is in front of me (like Gemma in the living room), I know that the works of God will be visible not only in my son, but in my heart and soul as well.  

Share your thoughts with the Catholic Mom community! You'll find the comment box below the author's bio and list of recommended articles.

Copyright 2024 Carmen Lappe
Images: Canva