Dr. Snow. His name doesn't capture the years of schooling, research, and excellence of his practice. He speaks with the precision of a scalpel. I respect the formal manner. The room is all gray and clean.
"Yes. It's a cataract," long pause and unbroken gaze into the portal of Lucy's eye. He doesn't flinch, "A partial." Emotionless and grounded all at once, he looks up, "It's nothing you could have done."
The next weeks littered with appointments and smudged with fear, his words echo back to me, nothing you could've done, a small mercy. I could also mention how he stilled the busy office to offer a prayer for us, but then it might seem God was only there for a moment.
In a few minutes now we head to another appointment far from home. Lucy sucks her thumb with the devotion of a practiced athlete and I wonder if it will be enough. Devotion is like that thumb never offering strength until the very moment we need it. I wonder what we will need today.
The hearing ear and the seeing eye, the LORD has made them both.