More than 50 years ago when President V. Raymond Edman walked across campus, he would greet each student by name. “Prexy” delighted in seeing his “lads and lassies.”
As a student “lass” in 1966, I opened my CPO box to find a note from Dr. Edman asking me to come to his office. I went, a bit daunted by this summons from the former president, now the chancellor. He quickly put me at ease, handing me a book I had misplaced that he had found. Granted, he could more easily have sent it through CPO, but he wanted to chat with me. To this day, I cherish that visit.
I knew even then that Dr. Edman had had problems with his vision. He was first diagnosed with a detached retina in the right eye in 1959 and for two and a half years endured six rounds of painful eye surgeries to restore his sight. For weeks at a time, he lay immobile, in complete darkness. At one juncture, the prognosis seemed hopeless.1 But through what he called the “Discipline of Darkness,” he learned that “God’s promises shine even more brightly in the dark as do the stars.”2
A year ago my own eyesight deteriorated. I could not have completed the previous two issues of Wheaton magazine without the ability to increase the type size considerably on my iMac. I read paper proofs only with a magnifying glass, a slow, tedious process. This spring one of the finest ophthalmologists in the country performed surgeries on both my eyes. Two days following one of the procedures—a delicate, difficult partial corneal transplant—he pronounced the results to be “Fantastic!”
In this magazine is an article on miracles (pp. 31-33). Professor of New Testament Dr. Amy Peeler writes that when we broaden our concept of miracles, “We might not all have seen the dead raised, but we have seen . . . bodies healed through the wisdom of physicians. . . . We begin to realize that our daily existence is miraculous because without the sustaining power of Christ all creation would dissipate.”3
I don’t know that Dr. Edman considered the restoration of his sight a miracle. But now when I awake in the morning to see the sun’s rays, can drive to Ohio to see my grandchildren’s faces, and can actually see to read this magazine, I thank the Lord for the miracle of sight that he gave me.
On September 22, 1967, as Dr. Edman was speaking to his lads and lassies in the chapel named for him, he collapsed and died. On that day I was working in the Health Center, and I called the ambulance.
Miracles of this life are short-lived in light of heaven. Dr. Edman now no longer sees through a glass darkly, for his view of reality is complete—and forever he beholds his Savior, face to face.4
Georgia I. Douglass '70, M.A. '94
1 V. Raymond Edman, Out
of My Life (Grand Rapids:
Zondervan, 1961), pp. 45-47.
2 Earle E. Cairns, V. Raymond
Edman: In the Presence of the
King (Chicago: Moody Press,
1972), p. 160.
3 cf. Col. 1:17; Heb. 1:3
4 cf. 1 Cor. 13:12