Eyes to See

red-poppy-flower-field

“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

– C. S. Lewis –


Just 45 miles from the Mediterranean shore, in a time when the land was overrun with foreign soldiers, a sleeping village becomes the birthplace of the world’s only hope.

God becomes man, and is laid, wet and swaddled, in a box of scratchy straw.

And the little town barely stirs in its sleep.

“He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and the world did not know Him. He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him (John 1:10-11, NKJV).

This world, a willing amnesiac, sees His face and turns away, blind to the Divine, timeless features of its own Maker, because He is wrapped in human ordinariness.

They could not see. “All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it” (John 1:3-5, NKJV).

Yet, today, you and I see.

But we start out just as blind to the glory as any sleeping soul on that Bethlehem night. His grace and love showers around us, and we grope in the dark and take hold of any explanation–anything at all, except for Him. That–that idea that the Light came to us–is never an option.

Then….then something happens.

Whether it is slow dawning or immediate revelation, one day we wake up and we see.

“All I know is that I was blind but now I see

That though I kick and scream,

Love is leading me.

And every step of the way, His grace is making me;

With every breath I breathe, He is saving me.

And I believe.”

– Andrew Peterson, “The Good Confession” –

Once long ago, my eyes were opened. I would never have seen Him, never come to the Light, on my own. His own power over death is the same power that overcame my spiritual death. Now, I see.

But, you know, sometimes I still keep rushing on with my head down and I still fail to see.

I fail to see that my new heart is a miracle. I forget to look for the wonder of each new day that, undeserving, I still receive.

And today, this is my prayer: Give me eyes to see.

Eyes, dear Lord. Open my eyes and let me see these wonderful things that I cannot grasp. They are too high for me. The glory of them blinds me.

But, isn’t it better to be blinded by Light than to never see it at all?

Isn’t it better to stagger under the heaviness of glory than to never have it thrill through your bones? To be loved so much that your heart can hardly stand the joy of it?

Today, I wake up to a day of routines and surprises, a new morning of people to care for and lists to make and jobs to complete.

But, first, I pray this prayer.

Give me eyes to see.

Centuries before the quiet night in Bethlehem, another foreign host busied itself invading the ever-troubled nation of Israel, surrounding the city where the prophet of God was staying. When the prophet’s servant looked over the walls and saw the terrifying power of the enemy, he cried out in his fear. And this was the prophet’s response:

“And Elisha prayed, and said, “Lord, I pray, open his eyes that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw. And behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha” (2 Kings 6:17, NKJV).

They were not alone–they just needed eyes to see.

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”

– Jonathan Swift –

And, today, as I begin another week full of ordinary days, I realize that maybe these ordinary tasks and unforeseen challenges are just the places for me to SEE.

So, today, dear Lord, open eyes that I cannot open myself.

Remove the veil and let me look deeply at Your love, Your faithfulness, Your new mornings.

Armies of sorts camp against me too. They look pretty big sometimes.

But, faithful Father, I trust Your plan that’s working just beyond the obvious.

Give me eyes to see.

“The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”

– Marcel Proust- 

 

 

 

 

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