Eye Wide Shut.

I remember a birthday party I attended. I was six then. They had a game called “Pin the donkey”, where you had to pin a paper tail on a donkey outline while being blindfolded. To make the game harder, they put you a distance away from the donkey, spun you around a few times so you, in a confused state, had to grope your way to it. I watched the other children play. They made it seem so easy because they were so sure of themselves, even though they couldn’t see a thing. I played too. Back when we were children, we took risks, played boldly, and laughed hard at our mistakes. Being blindfolded never seemed to make us too unsure. It was what made it all fun. We had a wild time.

Faith is about being sure of what one hopes for, and certain of what we do not see-Hebrews 11:1. I used to relate faith with great projects, ambitions, dreams. Now, taking off my rose-tinted shades, I see it instead, in the littlest of things, things I never used to see it in. I see clearly now, that for all our human foresight and worldly vision for great dreams and pompous goals- one very often needs faith, simply for oneself-to believe in one’s own complete restoration, healing, progress, transformation.

Therapy can be an excruciatingly daunting process. Very often, one gets discouraged along the way. The issues surfaced spin you around, the blindfold seems to make it seem like the lights were turned off, and you wonder if the donkey might even be in the opposite direction, behind you.

Times like these, you freeze up, want to back out, say you’re through and you don’t want to play anymore. Times like these, you start to understand the term of “walking by faith” in a profoundly personal way.

Different people with depression shows symptoms in different ways. Some lose appetites, some lose interests, some lose sleep. I have the symptom they call early-morning waking, which involves jolting awake at four in the morning and being unable to fall back to sleep. On better days, this happens at five. You are dead tired, have a full day of school the next day but your eyes are wide open. Yet, the darkness all around makes it seem like they’re shut-you can’t see anything. Eyes wide shut.

The anxiety from the bad dream hauntingly lingers, and your heart sinks as you fight the frustration and resignation of having another night’s rest interrupted. You try to see beyond the darkness and to hold on to a dimming vision of seeing yourself healed, and set free from this unnecessary bondage. With your eyes wide shut, you try and see beyond the present blackness.

Sometimes, this can be so hard.

Some nights I forget, that Faith is about being sure of what one hopes for, and certain of what we do not see. In the darkness, my eyes cannot see, open or closed, and I remind myself, this is what it is- to be unable to see, to suffer from this painful symptom of depression, and yet, still be certain, excited even, of a victory, a time to come.

Sometimes, this can be hard.

On my way home from the podiatrist a few days ago, I walked past the blind busker who performs at the underground tunnel at Orchard Road. He has almost become a landmark there. Many times I had walked past him but could never chat as he was in the midst of a song. This time, however, he had stopped to take a drink. I walked by- “I like your music very much. What is your name?”

“Robin. My name is Robin.”

He took both my hands and held them very tightly. He started to ask me what I was doing, why I was at Orchard Road. I was about to leave, say goodbye and take my hands back but there was an urgency in his grasp that both surprised and disturbed me at once. He held both my hands, shook them, almost fondled with them, as if he wanted to know the hands which belonged to the voice, as if he wanted to be sure I was there, wanted to be sure I wouldn’t go, just yet. Not till he was ready to let me go, at least.

His eyes could not see, and he wanted to be certain.

I thought to myself, it is like the anxious way we sometimes grope in the darkness, urgently crying out for God’s hand to come touch us, anxiously fearful that He’ll leave us, in mid-conversation. But just like the way I was standing right in front of Robin, whether he was clutching my hand or not, God is always right there by us, too, I thought. We’re uncertain of what we cannot see, and Faith allows us to be otherwise.

His grasp disturbed me, reminded me of Uncle P.

Uncle P was once a stranger to me, too. I met him at church. He was just sitting there at the coffeeshop, staring into space, with one hand on his walking stick, his hair a shock of white. I remember I had seen him at a church service once previously. Everybody was praying for him at the front because he had turned blind recently, and had to stop serving as a missionary.

I went up to him to say hello, say that I was moved and encouraged by his life of being a missionary, say “my name is Wai Jia and how do I address you? Are you feeling better now and how can I pray for you?”

He reached out his hand to hold mine. He has been a missionary for a long time. Just two days before we had first met, he had had a heart operation for a heart attack, had learnt his kidneys were failing him because of diabetic complications, and now, he was going blind, too.

I looked at his blank eyes which stared out into the distance. When they looked into mine, I saw two stagnant pools of glassy dullness staring back at me. I didn’t know how much of me he could see. So I looked back into his eyes, pretended that he was seeing me quite clearly. I didn’t know what to say. Tell him what, that I understood?

One Sunday I saw him standing in the midst of a crowd, his wispy frame leaned over his walking stick, a lonely shadow of a man amidst a garrulous, bubbly crowd. He couldn’t walk forward because of his eyesight so he was waiting for his wife to come. His face was crestfallen, his eyes forlorn. It must have been our third encounter. As I went over to comfort him, he started to cry and weep in a sudden outburst of emotion. I didn’t know what to say. Tell him what, that I understand? That I understand his feelings of anger, betrayal and confusion to his plight after doing God’s good work for his entire life to serve the poor? That I understand how everyone is trying to give him a different kind of explanation for his circumstance-it’s punishment, no it’s fate, no it’s a trial, just accept it, no you should believe in being healed-you cant just accept this… That I understand his frustration, his agony, his shame?

“ God loves you so very much, Uncle P,” I said.

“It’s been ten months!” he cried out, “ I want to see… I just want to see…” How he wept. And if it hadn’t been for his walking stick, he would have sunk into my arms. In some sense, I felt his pain, too. All that frustration and confusion about his state seemed to echo within me. As he wept, I started to cry, too.

I remember the first time I introduced myself I told him I was a medical student hoping to be a medical missionary someday. Suddenly his eyes lit up and his hold on my hands tightened to a grasp, the same bold grasp of Robin the blind busker. At once, from his shrunken, dim state, he became ecstatic, was glowing, even. He smiled broadly, his face turned to mine, and his blank, blank eyes bore into mine, bore into mine so deeply it was as if he was looking right into my soul, and he said, “I’m so happy, Wai Jia, to hear that. You know, I know I’m going to go back to the mission field myself…Oh I’m so excited, I’m going back to the mission field someday!”

Now when I see him, he tells me the same thing, over and over.

I wanted to cry, wanted to tell him, that from a medical perspective, he might not ever see well again. You just had 2 heart attacks, one heart operation, your kidneys are failing, you have severe diabetes and you are almost completely blind. But I said nothing. For he had what I was losing on this long journey-

-Faith.

Faith is about being sure of what one hopes for, and certain of what we do not see. He was blind, but he was sure.

As sure as children are when they march forward with their blindfolds on, to pin the tail on the donkey; as sure as I am when I flick on the light in mornings of insomnia to read the bible, page after page, and claim the peace of God like a little babe; as sure as Robin was of my physical presence when he grasped both my hands in his.

Blind, with eyes wide shut. And yet certain of what they could not see, sure of what they hoped for.

And I do believe Uncle P- that he will go back to the mission field someday and become an extraordinary man. You’d think it’d be impossible- he’s going blind. But his faith has won and inspired the hearts of men, that beautiful faith exercised in spite of circumstance is testimony to his love for God, not only in times of being blessed, but even in spite of great pain and agony. Do you not see- because of his faith, his mission field has become the people around him, who have been shamed by his glorious and devoted love for God in spite of circumstance.

And I finally understand, that it’s true when they say that faith can move mountains, open blind eyes, bring life, restoration, healing. So now when I awake at four in the morning, with my eyes wide shut, I am more determined now to look into the darkness and smile in faith at the hope of a future I cannot yet see. I have been afraid and anxious of many things because of the three appointments for therapy I have this week- the thought of it has been so intimidating that one cries alone in the night when one cannot sleep. But I realise, that one sometimes just has to move forward, with each step in child-like faith, and be unafraid to take the step forward to pin the tail on a donkey we can’t even see, because it will be done according to the certainty and faith birthed within our hearts, even though we cannot not yet see- because just like how I hadn’t moved an inch away from Robin, God is likewise always there found right beside us.

It’s so very hard sometimes, but the harder the case, the greater the faith that will be magnified.

Perhaps someday, when I’ve graduated from medical school and recovered from this all, I’ll meet Uncle P- in the mission field, too- with our eyes wide open.