Every two years I dutifully make an appointment with the optometrist and every time the doctor explains to me all the reasons why progressive lenses are perfect for my vision needs. But, despite taking her advice the last three times, I have not come to love or frankly even like, progressive lenses. I give it my best shot, easing into wearing them, committing to trying for several months, but I can never find the “sweet spot” and I have to move my head far too much when I try to read anything to seem normal. In short, I give up every time and go back to being progressively more blind instead.

But blind doesn’t work well for someone who loves to read, which is why I found myself at Walgreens with a book in hand, trying on various “readers.” I was expecting a long day of sitting in a waiting room the next day and reading seemed like a good way to keep my mind occupied. “Readers” would allow me, I hoped, to see the words on the page without moving my head back and forth, even if these lenses would do nothing to help me see across the room. I grabbed a variety of snacks as well, honestly more for James’ sake than my own. He was going to have to fast before surgery and I figured he would be starving by the time we were discharged from the hospital.

I’m not in Walgreens often, but it seems like each time that I am the same man is working the check-out. He’s old, and looks as though life hasn’t been too easy on him. He is always very kind and enjoys making conversation. This time he looked over my items and said, “Ah, a vacation is ahead for you it looks like!”

I could see why he thought as much, as I was juggling a couple candy bars, trail mix, some nuts, two sets of reading glasses and the book I brought in to test out the glasses, but I kindly corrected him saying, “Actually, my husband is having surgery tomorrow, so I just wanted a few supplies for the wait.”

“Minor surgery, I hope,” he replied with a furrow to his brow. He had stopped scanning my items and was looking right at me for an answer. I didn’t feel like I could just nod, agree and move on.

“It’s a bit more than that, but we are optimistic for a good outcome,” I replied.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you mind if I pray for him?” the man said in response. I just stood there, looking at this man – all but a stranger to me, here he was offering the only thing I felt could help us.

“We would really appreciate it if you would,” I told him. He went on to ask my husband’s name and told me he had quite the prayer chain that would be praying for him. “Jimmie will be in good hands,” he said, using a familial nickname as though he had known my husband since he was little. I thanked him, for the prayers far more than for the snacks and glasses and I left.

I sat in the car for several minutes thinking about what this man had offered to us. I had gone in the store to help solve a vision problem but he showed me what it was that I really needed to see. The church is everywhere. Believers all belong to the same family and when one of us needs help, we are all there for each other, lifting up those concerns to God. This man didn’t have to know me or know James to offer the best kind of help possible. And while friends and family have all offered a million varieties of help, including prayers, it was the offer of a stranger that made me really see God today. Lord knows how blessed we are by this little thing.