“Let’s see if I understand, Kenny, you want me to surgically remove your eyes?”
Dr. Benjamin F. Randolph eased his thick black glasses down his larger than average size nose as he studied his new patient.
The boyish looking man sitting in front of him nodded his head.
Dr. Randolph thought he had heard everything in nearly forty-years of medical practice, but this was a first.
“I have to ask, Kenny, why have this done? Do you want to donate them for some reason?”
The young man’s voice was soft and innocent.
“…I wouldn’t want anyone to have my eyes.”
The white-haired physician was beyond curious and had to continue the conversation.
“Why is that?”
“My eyes are bad, Doc.” The young man’s voice began to crack. “They look at things they shouldn’t and for longer than they should.”
Dr. Randolph exhaled loudly as he leaned back in his chair. Gazing up at the ceiling he considered the sanity of his patient. As he focused his attention back down to the desk, he spied his Bible and smiled.
“By any chance, are you a Christian?’
“Yes, sir.” Kenny shifted his look to the floor.
“It’s okay to look at me. I’ve been a Christian for a long time. I think I’ve been where you’re at. Are you familiar with Mark 9:45, where Jesus says, if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out?”
Kenny’s attention perked up.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t think I can do it myself.”
“That’s pretty wise, son. So, you think your eyes are the problem?”
The doctor paused as he stroked his chin.
“Well, um, what are you having problems looking at?”
Kenny blushed deep red.
“Uh, you know, Doc.”
“Hmm, is it pick-up trucks, Kenny?”
The patient crinkled his forehead.
Doctor Randolph raised his eyebrows.
“You know, to make it easier to talk about.”
Finally, the light bulb came on in Kenny’s mind.
“Yes, that’s it, pick-up trucks, but the short-bed kind with big tires.”
The doctor tried his best not to smile.
“All right then, trucks with big tires. I think I understand.”
Kenny finally came alive.
“I see’em everywhere, Doc. I have to repent all the time. That’s all I do, check out, ah, pick-up trucks and repent.”
“Well, we do live in a society that is inundated with trucks and big tires. I get the picture now. Let me ask you, do your eyes look at what they want to on their own, or does some part of you tell them what to do?”
“I guess my brain, or something tells them what to look at.”
“Then let me ask, do you have a Bible?”
“Do you read it?”
“At night before I go to bed.”
“If you lose your vision, how are you going to read?”
“I’ll listen on tape, sir.”
“Of course, tape. Do you agree you have a choice whether or not to look at big tires?”
The young man nodded in agreement.
“Kenny, if you are having problems choosing the right thing to look at. How do you know you won’t have the same difficulty deciding what to listen to, or think about for that matter?”
Frustrated, the young man shrugged his shoulders.
“The problem is not your eyes, Kenny. It’s the vision of your heart. You don’t want your heart removed, do you?”
“What’ll I do then, Doc?”
“Are you a new Christian, Kenny?’
“Yes sir, I got saved watching television two weeks ago. The preacher was talking about lust.”
“Okay, are you going to church yet?”
“Why don’t you consider this, Kenny? Instead of eye surgery, let me tell you how to get to my church. My son is an associate-pastor there for young adults. He’s pretty good at helping people get over the ‘big tires’ thing. Would you be interested?”
Kenny smiled as a few tears formed in his newly pardoned eyes.
“What you have to do now, is learn how to live by the Holy Spirit and not your flesh. God will take you through a process where He will renew your heart so it desires only good things to look at.”
“I think I understand, sir. I have one problem though. I drive a Chevy 454 SS with big mud tires.”
Doc’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Kenny, we were really talking about women, weren’t we?”
“Just kidding, Doc. See you at church.”
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