I wrote recently about defective eyes.  Eyes that cry too much.  That wasn’t the whole story.

For the last few months, I haven’t been able to see clearly.  

But it was only in one eye.  That’s not so bad, is it?  I still have one eye that sees just fine.  The pesky eye, though—my right eye—is blurry.  I can’t read at all with it.  Like the fellow in the Gospels, I see men as trees walking.

It irks me.  I’m grumpy about it.  And the Lovely Lady has been patient for long enough.

The ophthalmologist told me it would be easy to repair.  Ten minutes in the surgeon’s chair, a few seconds of a laser beam directed skillfully at the troublesome lens, and I’ll be just fine.

I believe him.

I’ve pinned my hopes on this appointment with the surgeon for weeks now. I’ll get up early (the middle of the night for me!) tomorrow morning, and, making my way to a nearby city, will trust my eye to the man with the certificate on his wall saying he is worthy of that trust.

Today, I sat at my piano and attempted once more to play the latest song I’m struggling to render into recognizable music.  For a few moments, it seemed I would succeed.

But with only one usable eye, fatigue sets in quickly.  It’s difficult to focus, to gather in the multiple shapes and iterations of the notes lining the staves on the page.  In the middle of the piece, I groaned in disgust and walked out of the room angry.

I am not content.

But tomorrow I shall be.

That’s funny.  The words of my namesake, the apostle who loved to write letters, spring to my mind, and I have to stop and reassess.

“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content in any circumstance.”  (Philippians 4:11, NET)

Shall I be?  Content?  Tomorrow?

How many todays have I squandered in hoping for what is planned for tomorrow?

When will I have learned to be content?  No matter the circumstances.

I write the words as I sit at my desk, just adjacent to the old grand piano, where I exclaimed in disgust just moments ago.

It’s either true or it’s not: 

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1, NIV)

I think I’ll bring this little missive to a close.

The piano is calling. Again.

I really can see just fine with my left eye. 

I’ll still go and see that doctor in the morning. 

Today, I’m content. 

 

“This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24, NKJV)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2026. All Rights Reserved.