My vision is poor without my visual aid. Weak and distorted. Blurred at the edges and in between. My sight is questionable and uneasy. Unstable and dark. My seeing aid would benefit me greatly should I choose to take the time to adjust to its clarity and trust in its finite perscription. Making the decision to wear the unmistakably clear lenses and exposing a previously foggy world to a world of certainty. My sight would then be sharpened and without a doubt intensified to the best degree, but at the expense of being more aware of the many pestilences that intrude my path. The idea of a clearer vision is now susceptible to harmful things. 20/20 now allows for a front seat to my fears and the evil that surrounds me, BUT the power to know its distance. The POWER to know that you have an indisputable advantage over any evil with this visual aid. To recognize any wicked before you walk yourself straight into it. A chance to take this new vision to good use and pray when those mishaps stand before you. Even though the new glasses will reveal the battles at hand, they serve as protection and a shield once you’ve made the decision to simply put them on.
God is your visual aid. Your 20/20 that weeds out the unstable, blurred accounts of life. The protection against the unknown because He knows. He is the ability to see your day-to-day in a way that once appeared hazy. He promises to serve as your protection and shield when you agree to set your stubbornness aside and peer into his unmatchable viewing glasses. However, just as the thrill of a smooth new perception comes about, so does the notice of things unpleasant. What a blessing it is to recognize these setbacks through the eyes of God, rather than your own.
There is a vision that reminds me of this very gift that God grants us. It’s one I continually think about because it was one of the most wonderful experiences I’ve ever had. It was last December when we visited Seattle. We stayed in an amazing cabin somewhere east of there. After our sightseeing in the city of Seattle, we arrived at our cabin after dark. The cabin had a huge floor-to-ceiling lookout window in the living room/kitchen. However, given that we were surrounded by nature and far enough away from the city lights, there wasn’t a sight to be seen out that window that night. Even after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, there was absolutely nothing more than pitch black. We even went down the side of the cabin out to the back to see if we could catch a glimpse of some of the view. Absolutely nothing…still pitch black. So dark, in fact, that I wouldn’t have known if a tree was within feet of me. The only thing I could do was listen, and the sound of the flowing river was a loud, constant sound. The eerie part about it is that we had no idea how far away we were from the river itself. All we could do was listen and look out into the darkness. On our first morning there, when we woke up, was an image I’ll never forget. I couldn’t even if I tried. That picture of the mountains, large as they were, beautiful as they were, was unbelievable. The green was so green and the river so big and SO close to us. It was all so beautiful, in fact, that it would have been easy to deny what was in front of me. It would be easy to be doubtful of its beauty and to stand in disbelief of its splendor. However, it was as real as my hand in front of me and revealed all that was blacked out the night before. The vision was clear and what was left up to assumption before was now clearly laid out for me.
This reminds me of how we all begin our spiritual journey walking in the dark. We may hear glimpses or pieces of the beauty that is before us, but until we give ourselves fully we will be walking in the dark without a leader. The funny part is that we are that close, a prayer away. Just like we were that close to the beautiful scene. Prayer can wipe out the uncertainties and give you light and clarity. The morning scene that I saw reminds me of the gifts He gives us and the new vision that comes about when He is invited into our lives. We get to realize how close His presence really was the entire time, and how His absence was never in question.
Twenty-something 