It’s the strangest feeling–seeing things clearly for the first time.
I’ve worn glasses since the second grade. I’ll never forget the day I put them on. The world around me was completely overwhelming!
I could suddenly see people’s faces so vividly. I looked way up at the branches of the trees, which before had looked like nothing more than shapeless green shadows moving in the wind–and I could see every outline of every green leaf.
I stared in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the freckle-nosed little girl who stared back at me. I had never noticed my freckles before.
I hadn’t realized how much I was missing.
When I reached my teenage years, those glasses stopped being so wonderful. I looked in the mirror with my glasses on and didn’t particularly like the imperfections I saw. I looked in the mirror with the glasses off, and those imperfections faded away. The perceived flaws were still there, but blurry enough without the glasses that I could forget about them. I started leaving them at home. Forgetting them. Losing them. Yes, it was irresponsible and foolish and it drove my parents crazy.
But it was easier on my pride when I couldn’t see.
When Adam and I came back from our initial trip to Honduras, it was like I had put on those first glasses all over again. It wasn’t my first missions trip. We had worked together for several years in Mexico and had experienced similar things. But it was as if God reached down and touched the eyes of my heart. Once again, the world around me was completely overwhelming.
I could suddenly see people so vividly. I looked around at the shadowy blurs rushing all around me–and I could now see the heartache outlined on tired faces.
I read through the Bible as usual, but verses that I had never noticed before seemed to leap off the page. God’s Word was suddenly in high definition with every chapter vividly shouting, “Do you see Me?”
Sometimes, like in my high school years, I want to take the glasses off.
I don’t want to see the pain all around me. I don’t want to know that children are being thrown away. I don’t want to know that people are dying, having never read or heard the Bible. I don’t want to know that voiceless little ones are being used, mistreated, and abused on the streets and in orphanages.
I don’t want to notice all the wasted time. Wasted money. Wasted food. Wasted words. Wasted lives.
It would be easier to just not see it. To pretend it isn’t there. To take the glasses off and blur out all the ugliness with comfortable forgetfulness.
The problem, though, is that when we blur out the ugliness, we hide the beauty.
I will never see the beauty of a broken life made whole in Jesus Christ, if I never see the brokenness.
I will never see the beauty of an orphan being born into the family of God, if I never see the orphan.
That beauty is why I keep asking God to let me see the world through His eyes. And why I hope anyone who reads this will consider doing the same.