Following Blind

The world is full of extraordinary people. Every once in a while, by what is seemingly sheer happenstance but is actually grand design you find yourselves rubbing shoulders with them. As a result, you walk away with a clearer picture of what reality looks like and the trajectory of your own journey moves a little closer to true north. This is certainly the case with the folks I’m about to introduce to you. Truth be told at the start of this particular relationship I almost botched the whole thing up with a classic foot-in-mouth move. The first time I met Jake and Audrey was on a zoom call. They were engaged to be married and had approached the church about finding a pastor who could officiate their wedding. I was fortunate enough to be on call and available to walk with them through the process. As a pastor in a local church one of the best parts of walking with couples through getting married is the time you get to spend with them in pre-marital counseling. This zoom call would be Jake, Audrey, and I’s first session together as Jake was residing in Southern California at the time. The meeting was scheduled on the early side to accommodate Audrey’s work schedule. When it was scheduled I had a faint concern for how early it would be for Jake on the west coast. They chose the time, so I went with it. When I popped my laptop open and started the meeting Audrey’s warm, congenial, countenance greeted me. While we were making sure we could hear each other Jake’s window came to life. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. His broad smile grabbed me through the Zoom window bringing my computer screen to life. His zoom handle which read “Jake the snake” sat just below his grin in the bottom right corner, and he was carrying a popped Celsius in his right hand. But what I couldn’t avoid were the dark black sunglasses he was wearing and the extreme confidence they evoked. I wasn’t ready for it. I immediately found myself putting the pieces together: SoCal, the quirky handle, the popped Celsius, the sunglasses, and the time of day there on the west coast. I felt like I had him pegged enough to lead out with something like “well man, when you’re cool the sun shines on you 24 hours a day…” Thank God I didn’t.

Over the course of the next 30 minutes Jake and Audrey told me their stories one by one, and how those stories eventually came together. Audrey was a San Antonio girl whose athletic ability landed her a volleyball scholarship at UNF. She was a baller. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake’s story sounds oddly familiar to you. When he was a little boy Jake was diagnosed with a form of cancer in both of his eyes. As a result, his left eye was removed at the age of one. His right was saved through treatment. While this had an obvious impact on his childhood there was no way it could stop him from engaging in the things he loved the most, and what Jake loved the most was playing football. He adapted. Jake told me stories of things he was able to do on the flag football field as a young boy in the face of his disability by compensating for his lack of vision with his extraordinary sense of hearing. He described “sonoring” his receivers downfield from the quarterback position and landing passes with impressive accuracy. I looked at his smile widen with pride on my screen as he recounted the memories. This was Jake’s childhood journey, learning to make the most of his limited ability to see until the age of 12 when the cancer in his right eye reappeared. The tone of his voice shifted in sobriety and his smile narrowed ever so slightly as he continued. He and his parents were confronted with the reality that the only way Jake’s life could be saved was through the removal of his existing eye, leaving him completely blind for the rest of his life. As he spoke, I tried to imagine walking through something that dire as a child, or that child’s parent. They had reached a massive fork in the road and there was only one option that led to longevity for Jake. Word got out about the story in their southern California community. It eventually reached the then head coach of the USC Trojans men’s football program, the legendary Pete Carroll. As it turned out, Jake was a massive USC football fan. Pete was so moved by what Jake was facing that he reached out to him. “Jake, what do you want to do before you lose your eye? Name it,” he said. Jake replied as a true Trojan fan would.

“I wanna see as much USC football as possible.”

It was a done deal. The pace of Jake’s retelling of the story picked up as he recounted the time spent with the team in the locker room and on the sideline to Audrey and I over Zoom. Audrey beamed as he spoke. As a twelve-year-old boy, Jake became the heart and soul of one of the most well-known college football programs in the country. Not only that but his story made national sport headlines. Clips of “Jake the snake” standing next to Coach Carroll while he put the team through their paces were a regular occurrence on ESPN. Jake soaked every sight he possibly could up into his young brain through his one remaining eye until the day of the surgery, by far one of the scariest days of his life. He recounted his memories of what the surgical center waiting room looked like before the procedure took place. Hearing him give the details of the color of the paint on the walls and fabric on the chairs left me speechless as I sat on the other side of the country listening through my computer screen. When the procedure was done Jake started a new chapter in his journey. He had completely let go of the ability to see in a physical sense, embracing life in the dark. I saw tears form in the corner of Audrey’s eyes as he spoke.

After the surgery was over Jake found himself back in the Trojan locker room in his new condition. Coach Carroll and the team welcomed him like the champion he was. The team, including the coaching staff, had his back in an exponentially deeper sense now that the procedure had taken place. In fact, Jake would continue to be a part of the Trojan community into his high school years. One of the USC coaches taught Jake how to be a long snapper, and Jake took to it. In his junior and senior year Jake landed a spot on his high school football team snapping for place kickers, all without the sense of sight. I know, amazing, right? But the story doesn’t end there. Jake’s love for USC propelled him to enroll as a student after high school graduation. He was accepted. It was at that point that NCAA coaching legend Steve Sarkisian, who had taken over as the head football coach of the Trojans, approached Jake about the possibility of him walking on the team as a long snapper. I sat in amazement as Jake the snake, the shade wearing, energy drink wielding, wide smiling face on my computer screen told me that to this day he was the only blind athlete who had ever competed in an NCAA Division 1 football game. I didn’t think it was possible for Audrey to beam any brighter than she already had. I was wrong.

This was the beginning of my relationship with Jake and Audrey. The Olson’s (fun for me to say). The three of us got into the trenches of pre-marital counseling with all that it entails. I led them through Paul’s timeless words to the Ephesians regarding the relationship between the husband and the wife, how it is a profound mystery that finds its ultimate significance in Christ’s relationship with his church. They soaked it up like sponges. I knew their situation would be unique as they navigated life together with Jake’s condition. I saw a deep commitment to honor Christ in the way they mutually submitted to one another. Their relationship reeked of grace. While I spent time investing in them as a pastor, I couldn’t help but sense that I was the one who walked away deeply encouraged at the end of our sessions. Jake’s impenetrable sense of faith and his commitment to honor Jesus with his life, and in his soon to come marriage to Audrey, was awe inspiring.

On the day of their wedding, I found myself standing barefoot and shoulder to shoulder with Jake on the soft, white, sand of Jacksonville beach as Audrey walked the aisle toward him. It was a small, intimate wedding. His family who had made the trip from southern California for the wedding began to spontaneously describe the scene to him like it was second nature from a few short feet away. As Audrey appeared cresting the beach’s dune, Jake’s mother chimed in softly, “She’s beautiful, Jake.” Then one by one each one added to the scene. “The sky is bright blue with a few whispy clouds. It's magnificent.” “She’s getting closer. Her dress is blowing lightly in the breeze. Oh Jake, it’s magnificent.” Jake’s eyes began to leak underneath his dark glasses. Jake was there on my right, standing in the middle of it all without the use of his eyes. His adept imagination was soaring with their every word. I saw his shoulders and hands tremble as she got closer. It was a monumental time. He was moving forward, taking a giant life step…in the dark. What followed was one of the most moving wedding ceremonies in which I’ve ever participated. Jake and Audrey stood side by side in front of me facing each other while the waves gently crashed onto the beachfront behind us. Jake poured affirmation on Audrey for the way she made him feel fully “seen”, reading his heartfelt thoughts through the tips of his fingers via braille. Audrey reciprocated by praising Jake for his undaunted courage…for his faith. Tears were in abundance from all parties, mine included.

Faith. The author of Hebrews (we aren’t confident who that actually is) defines it as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1 ESV, italics added for emphasis). Apparently for faith to be real it must exist in the dark, where things aren’t very clear. That’s where it really lives, in the shadows. Often, great “men and woman of the faith” are praised as they stand, perched on high mountaintops where everything is drenched in the sunlight. They are well dressed, smiling, and boisterously brimming with confidence. It’s not as easy to spot those with their knees to the earth down in the valley as they groan with desperation. These are less conspicuous. Sometimes I think we visualize faith as a marble bust that sits on our living room mantle. We know it’s there and it’s interesting to look at, but it doesn’t do much for us. We invite people over for dinner and they sit on the couch and admire the statue along with us… “That is striking,” they say. We nod and agree. It could be that faith, real faith, is more likened to the lawnmower sitting behind hidden door in the dark, dank, garage. It’s covered in grass and debris from the hours spent out grooming the earth. It’s oily. It’s odorous. But it’s useful and it has a history of making a difference.

I’ve been slowly working my way through Matthew’s gospel in preparation for this upcoming Easter week. I read this recently:

“And as Jesus passed on from there, two blind men followed him, crying aloud, “Have mercy on us, Son of David.” (Matthew 9:27 ESV)

Did you catch it? There were two men following Jesus…and they couldn’t see. They were taking steps toward Jesus in the dark hoping to be heard and healed. These were not sidewalk preachers with sandwich boards and megaphones belching spiritual answers about the end times. These were the low, the outcast, the needy. But these were also the faith filled. That faith become a part of the story of their healing soon to follow.

In time Jake and Audrey welcomed their first-born son, Rowan, into the world. Jake texted me a picture from the hospital room of him cradling Rowan in his arms in the delivery room immediately after Rowan was born. Jake’s face was cocked up toward the camera smiling twice as wide as the first time I saw him on our first zoom call, still underneath the dark sunglasses. My heart burst with pride as I looked at the photo. It was another new chapter for the Olson’s. Jake and Audrey would now brave that treacherous and joyful road of parenthood together. And that’s exactly what happened.

Days after Rowan was born, I received another text from Jake:

“Can you and Ashley pray for Rowan’s ophthalmology ap tomorrow? Just that they won’t find anything in either eye and that the spirit puts a protective barrier around Rowan from cancer. 🙏🏼”

The following day this came:

“Hey so the ophthalmologist today thinks she sees a little tumor in the left eye. We are gonna head to CA for him to be looked at from the specialists at CHLA. We can pray we’ve found it early, which we have, and we can pray it’s only in the left eye. The doctors there are the best in the world and it’s easy to treat when found early. Rowan will have a little battle ahead of him but if he’s anything like his parents, he’s one heck of a fighter. Pray for God’s presence with us and for his miraculous hand on Row. I know he has us right where he wants us, and we’ll keep trusting and walking in faith. Is there any way to get a little prayer circle started for Row at CEO22? Appreciate you, Michael!”

As it turns out, little Rowan was born with a small tumor in both his right and left eye. Doctors were able to laser the right. The left would require chemotherapy. Ashley and I started praying for Rowan, for Jake, and for Audrey. Jake and I shared some texts back and forth during the process. Jake opened up in sincere vulnerability about his disappointment, his questions, and his doubts. I sent him a couple prayers from the Psalms that sounded exactly like what he was saying to me. He responded with the heart emoji.

As the days passed, I couldn’t help but think about those two men in Matthew’s gospel. I visualized Jake walking forward toward Jesus with his sunglasses on and little Row battling the effects of chemo cradled in his arms. He was crying out to the Son of David for mercy. Audrey and the rest of us were crying out along with him. Jake’s steps were steadily informed by a long history of God’s faithfulness to him in the darkness. Daily bread provision, now personified in Audrey’s steady support, had been there as he moved ahead. He was passing that same faith on to his little boy as a generational blessing amidst the struggle.

Row is still in treatment out in California and the doctors are hopeful. The Olson’s were able to get back to Jacksonville for a few weeks in between chemo regimens last month. I was able to grab lunch with all three of them. We crammed ourselves into a booth in a little Thai restaurant down the road. Audrey unbuckled little Row, pulled him out from his car seat, and passed him across the table to me. I held him for as long as he would let me. After he squirmed, I kissed him on the head and passed him back to mom. He settled immediately. When the food came Jake and Audrey shared what life has been like since the diagnosis and what things look like moving ahead. Jake talked about how strange it felt to sit in the exact same waiting room he sat in before his own procedure so many years ago. He sat in that room in the dark remembering the last things he saw with his own eyes as he waited for his son, Row, to receive his own treatment. So many thoughts and emotions to process. Too many. They were very aware of the heaviness of what was going on, but there was a sense of stable security in their demeanor. Their steps were undergirded by the knowledge of God’s nearness and good intention.

I don’t know the end of this story. Jake, Audrey, and Rowan are still living it and they don’t know either. What is to be done? I would love for you to join me in praying for baby Row. You can (or can’t) imagine the deep feelings and desires that Jake and Audrey have for his future. If you try and place yourself in their shoes, you’ll catch a glimpse of it. Here’s what I do know. Dark places are fertile ground for faith to grow. In one way or another we have all experienced this. Perhaps as you read scenes of your own journey pop up in the back of your mind. We can be assured (Hebrews 11) of this. God, in his unfathomable wisdom, will not waste the opportunity for us to learn how to depend on him, especially when we are following blind.