The ‘Eyes’ Have It
There are many idiom phrases in the English language that include the word eyes. Let’s take a brief look at a few and see their meaning and significance for this story.
To be the “apple of my eye” means to be dearly loved.
To “catch someone’s eye” means to attract attention.
To “open someone’s eyes” means to make them aware of the truth.
As we step into a new year—2026—many see it as a clean slate, full of new
beginnings. Ministry, however, never stands still. Some days move at a snail’s
pace; others arrive with surprises far beyond our human expectations.
This moment invites us to look back more than nine years ago, when a faithful
team from Immanuel Lutheran Church in Palatine, Illinois came to Cambodia to
share their gifts through an eyeglass clinic aptly named “See More Clearly.” At
the time, I had no idea that this simple act of service would grow into what we
witness today.
Exactly one year ago, on January 7th, we restarted these clinics. Since then,
across Siem Reap and Kampot Provinces, we have held 20 clinics and fitted
more than 900 pairs of glasses for those God brought to us. And that number
continues to grow.
Picture this: remote villages where dust settles softly along unpaved roads
leading everywhere and nowhere. In these places, eyeglass clinics stand like a
quiet promise, marked by a sign that boldly declares, “See More Clearly.”
For many who come, the gift of clearer vision is more than medical—it becomes
a living metaphor for the Gospel. As blurred outlines sharpen, hearts begin to
open. Just as eyes are restored to see the world as it truly is, lives can be
transformed to see hope, love, and salvation through Christ. The simple act of
fitting lenses becomes a bridge to deeper conversations, reminding villagers
that God cares not only for physical sight, but also longs to open spiritual eyes
to a life of purpose and grace.
Now, let me share what happened just two days ago in a remote village outside
Kampot.
There were eight of us traveling together in a truck that wove through
Cambodia’s ever-changing roads between Siem Reap and Kampot—a journey
of nearly 11 long hours and roughly 325 miles one way. Inside the cab were
Pastor Ravy’s parents, his family, and me. The children took turns riding in
the back, nestled under the shade rack under four large suitcases filled with
glasses. Ravy, wearing his sunglasses, stayed focused as traffic flowed
according to Cambodia’s unique rhythm—where cooperation among walkers,
bicycles, motorbikes, factory trucks, and rice-laden vehicles somehow keeps
everything moving forward.
Leaving Siem Reap offered an eye-opening glimpse into other parts of the
country. Life looks different depending on where you go. Some communities
survive through fishing, baskets, rice in bamboo, or small gardens. Near
Kampot, factories dominate the landscape. Young people work six days a week
sewing clothes for export, transported to and from work standing shoulder to
shoulder on truck beds—hundreds of trucks lining the roads. It is a sobering
reality.
The clinic that day was held beneath a grandmother’s stilted house, along a dirt
road lined with palm trees and grazing cows. We had hoped to create enough
space to serve our usual 35–40 people. Instead, the village came out in full
force. The space filled quickly—shoulder to shoulder, noisy, chaotic, and joyful.
It became a community event, with many watching closely and offering
opinions as the day unfolded.
And then came the awe moments.
One by one, people put on glasses selected just for them—and suddenly could
see trees clearly in the distance, or words on a page, many for the first time in
probably felt forever. Smiles spread. Laughter followed. Wonder filled the air.
By the end of the day, we had served 98 people and distributed 150 pairs of
glasses—a record for us. We finished long after the sun had set.
We always pray that those God wants us to meet will be sent on each clinic day.
This day was unlike any other. Even my Khmer grandkids joined in, running
errands and helping where they could. What unfolded was a true family effort,
supported by local helpers and sustained by a strength far beyond our own.
Once again, God reminded us that He is still opening eyes—both seen and
unseen.
To Him alone be the glory for the opportunity given to us this day. Amen.
“I was blind, but now I see.”
John 9:25
