Once I was lost, but now I see!

Beloved brothers and sisters in Christ,

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the peace that surpasses all understanding, rest upon you and sustain you in every season of life.

Around this time last year, my life was unexpectedly interrupted by a diagnosis of retinal detachment. What followed was an urgent surgery and a long season—nearly a year—in which I lived without sight in one eye. As a pastor, as a disciple of Christ, and as a fellow pilgrim walking the fragile road of human life, those months were marked by vulnerability, limitation, and quiet endurance. Yesterday, I underwent what I hoped would be the final surgery. And This morning, as I opened my eyes and gently turned them toward the light, something sacred unfolded. Through the eye that had long been in darkness, light and form slowly returned. After one full year, I found myself seeing once again with both eyes. Words feel insufficient to carry the weight of gratitude and wonder that filled my soul in that moment. Throughout this journey of loss and healing, I found myself returning to the same question in prayer: “Lord, why the eyes? Why not some other part of my body—but my sight?” In that holy questioning, my heart was drawn to the Apostle Paul. On the road to Damascus, Paul encountered the risen Christ and was struck blind. Yet it was in that physical darkness that the eyes of his heart were opened. Deprived of sight, he was granted true vision—to see Christ, to see grace, and to see his life reoriented by the purposes of God.

I am reminded that even today, many may see with their physical eyes—attending worship, proclaiming Scripture, hearing sermons—yet still walk in spiritual blindness. As this year unfolded, I came to understand that God had not merely allowed my vision to be taken away. Rather, He was gently, faithfully enlarging the vision of my spiritual life. I began to perceive more deeply the silent prayers offered from hospital beds, the weight of hope carried through long nights of uncertainty, the loneliness that accompanies prolonged recovery, and the trembling faith hidden within the whispered question, “How long, O Lord?” Through this suffering, God was not absent. He was humbling me. He was teaching me to listen more attentively. He was forming in me a deeper compassion for the people He has entrusted me, one that cannot be learned from text books, but only through shared pain.

Now that my physical sight has been graciously restored, I pray that I would never return to seeing the world as I once did. May God grant me eyes that linger rather than pass by,eyes that notice the wounded and the weary, eyes that honor tears as sacred, and eyes that never grow accustomed to grace. I believe this season of healing is not mine alone. It is a word of grace spoken to our entire community, our RockSpring Church: that even when God seems silent, He is still at work; and that when something appears to be taken away, God may in fact be preparing us for a deeper, truer way of seeing.

Thank you for the text messages, phone calls, food delivered and the undeserved love and prayers of so many faithful friends at RockSpring Community. I am truly blessed and deeply grateful to serve as your pastor. Thank you again from the bottom of my heart. And lastly, to all among us who continue to walk through illness, pain, or recovery, please know this: I now pray alongside you with a heart that has been reshaped by suffering and sustained by hope. To God—who gives sight to the blind, strength to the weak, and light in our darkness—be all glory, now and forever.

In Christ’s abiding love,

Rev. Won D. Kim

Lead Pastor of RockSpring Church