I got fitted for my first set of contacts almost two years ago. After less than a week, they became my litmus test for when I needed to drink more water. Until that time, I never understood how much I needed to listen to my eyes.
My eyes tell me more than what is happening around me. Their enormous weight signals my need for rest. The corners drip with tears even before I am aware of the deep pain I bear. The images in front of me blur as a signal that it’s time to step away… from the computer, the conversation, the environment.
My eyes become the alarm that sounds before my brain is incapacitated by the shock of a migraine. I listen to my eyes and discover messages from my head, my heart, my bones.
When I added contacts into the mix, my eyes began to send me a new memo: WATER. Drink. More. Water.
At the first sign of thirst, my eyes would begin to reject the contacts, as if to say, “If you don’t care for yourself, we will not care for you.” I am not blind without glasses or contacts, but I cannot make out words that aren’t directly in front of my face, and I am 100% more susceptible to headaches without them. Without my contacts or glasses, I cannot do my job or read the scoreboard at a UofL game (read: I am useless).
Most days, when I wear my contacts, I don’t bring my glasses with me, because I expect my contacts to get me through the day. So, when my eyes say, “We’re done. We’ve had it,” I am forced to listen.
At times, I find I didn’t listen soon enough. My thirst runs too deep that it cannot be quenched with a cup of water. The dryness of my eyes refuses to be ignored. My contacts become useless and must be removed.
The longing my eyes pointed towards has pushed me into a deeper thirst – for rest. Renewal. A chance to start fresh tomorrow.
This post is a part of a Lenten discipline I am participating in to write each day on a specific word. These posts reflect daily thought processes and conversations with God as I journey through this season of repentance and reflection. I hope they will be meaningful to those of you who find this space and journey with me.