I've recently been touched and stirred by the testimony of friends of ours who's boy was born with congenital cataracts about 2 months ago. One of the fascinating things is that he has had a hard time learning to smile because he can't see his parents. It reminded me of our relationship with God and how we grow into his likeness as his character is revealed to us. "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure." (1 John 3 vs 2-3)

I feel like their testimony gives a picture of God's character, so I'd like to share some of it:

When Cameron Benjamin Reyburn made his way into the world on 7 April 2008 our lives changed in the most beautiful, breathtaking way. What followed were six weeks of being blissfully awestruck by absolutely everything about his tiny person.
 
And then, two weeks ago, we discovered that Cameron has bilateral congenital cataracts, which means that he isn't seeing more than a cloudy blur of light or dark. He is still the same impossibly adorable baby boy who smells delicious at bedtime and is just learning to laugh. And yet now he faces a future of countless operations, possible – even probable – glaucoma and blindness, a life robbed of colour and beauty and opportunity and ease. So much of what we have pictured of our lives with him seems now to mock us cruelly. Will he go to a mainstream school? Will he be able to drive? Will he be teased by nasty children? Will he read music, or see a sunset on top of the Drakensberg, or backpack his way through the cathedrals of Europe?
 
Murray being an Optometrist with a degree in Genetics means that we have faced a mental Everest of frightening textbook case studies and patient histories. We have spoken to specialists in South Africa and abroad, read article after article, rehashed the options and possibilities of Cam's situation over and over. The spectrum of our emotions over these past days has ranged from paralyzing terror that makes my skin ache, to confident hope, to anger, to numb calmness, to utter despair, to disappointment, to the quiet sadness of grief. And we have wept… and wept. 
 
The low down is the following: if they operate now to remove the cataracts, Cameron's sight could develop pretty well, but he will almost certainly develop glaucoma, which is not always treatable, and if developed in such a young patient results in blindness within a couple of years. If they wait a few months before operating, the risk of his developing glaucoma is lessened, but his vision will be the poorer for the delay. So we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do we operate early, give him the best chance at vision and hope that he doesn't go blind after a while? Or do we wait, and at least give him some, if limited, vision, hopefully for the rest of his life?
 
I know it was no accident that in those sacred moments of Cam's delivery, the hymn It is well with my soul was playing softly in the calm, sterile caesarian theatre of the Pretoria East Hospital. I will never forget Murray's ecstasy, Cameron's first cry as they lifted him from me, and the ancient words:
           
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
            The clouds be rolled back as a scroll…
 
At the time I didn't know of the clouds that Cameron would face, and how desperately I would long for the physical clouds of congenital cataracts to be rolled away from these precious tiny eyes I have come to love far more than I can say. I know that God will roll away the clouds to reveal the blazing light of His glory. I don't know yet how He will do that. Perhaps by miraculously healing Cameron physically; or perhaps by giving him spiritual eyesight to accomplish His Kingdom purposes.
 
There are, however, a few things I know for sure.
 
I know that with our God, the best is yet to be.
 
I know that I don't have to say, 'Oh God, look at this great mountain!', but rather, I can say, 'Mountain, look at our great God!' He has never let us down; He has never not come through for us; He has never disappointed. Even when the end result has been different from what I wanted or envisaged, in hindsight His way has always been higher and better than my way. And I know that in this situation His character – perfect in love, power and wisdom – will be no different.