Monday, July 15, 2019
July 20, 1969 I was a little girl who had finished the fifth grade a month earlier. I had spent the year before trying to get adjusted to America, since it seemed my family was back from the Nigerian mission field to stay. Late that evening, my dad called me and my siblings to the family room and insisted we watch the moon landing. I didn't want to. I wanted to continue playing but he insisted, so begrudgingly I came.
Fifty years later, I am soooo thankful my dad made me see that piece of history live! Had I still been in Nigeria, where my heart longed to be, I would only have been able to listen to it via the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) or the Voice of America (VOA) across the radio waves.
The week before July 20, 1969 a little boy just out of seventh grade went fishing with his family on Summersville Lake, WV. His line caught in some bushes when he cast it and he could not pull it free. So, he pulled back with all his might. The line snapped and the lead sinker came flying back at him smashing his right eye. His incredibly painful hospital ordeal lasted 17 days.
On July 20, he lay in that hospital bed with patches over both eyes. Since eyes track with each other, the doctors decided to put patches on both of this little boy's eyes so as to take stress off the injured eye. But on that day, the little boy's father insisted he be allowed to watch the historic moon landing, so they gently lifted the patch on his good eye just enough that he was able to watch Neil Armstrong step out onto the moon.
That little boy grew up to be my husband, John Michael. His eye regained some sight though the eye had been damaged so it could never focus again. Through the years, he had to have several surgeries. Finally, after the eye began to lose its structure and developed painful corneal blisters, at the age of 60, he opted to have it removed.
His accident took a lot from him, but thanks to his dad, it didn't take away the ability to see men land on the moon. Thank God for fathers!