I’ve looked so hard and long at the world’s glittering prizes, and it’s scary terrors, that my moral corneas are starting to etch. Like looking at an eclipse, I’ve done damage to my sight. Not intentionally, but because the glittering prizes are so shiny and offer so much (but don’t ever forget to read the fine print!), and because the scary terrors are so overwhelming (it’s all falling apart, oh dear oh dear!). Sure, I’m a man of faith: I pray and I read my Scripture and I strive really hard to look with eyes of love on everyone who crosses my path–and that last one, friends, is not always the easiest part of my day. Sometimes all I can get to is looking with eyes of tolerance and exhaustion and impatience, which aren’t nearly the same thing as eyes of love.
So yes, my Teacher, I want to see again. The way I used to, the way I ought to, the way You built my moral eyes to. To see in everyone who comes across my path today not an enemy to be combatted or a deluded fool to be persuaded or an easy mark to be manipulated, but rather a child so beloved by You that You were willing to hang on a cross so that s/he could have the proof that You’d never leave, no matter how hard s/he rejects and snarls and stalks off slamming the doors in Your face.
Let me see, just for one day, with Your eyes. Because my vision is so clouded and compromised that I miss out on the beauty in front of my eyes, seeing only the prizes and the terror and the tolerance, exhaustion and impatience. Let me see the person who’s about to irritate me with her/his ill-informed and all-caps opinion as a child You love, and sister/brother I need to love. Let me see the sunrise as a marvel not to miss, and the day ahead as a joy in which to revel, and the scary terrors as an opportunity, and the glittering prizes as a nice but unnecessary distraction. Just let me see, my Teacher. That’s really all I want.