When Blind Eyes See. And UNITE Linky

It took a tall, slender homeless man stumbling across the crosswalk in front of my stopped car to wake me up to the reality.

There it stirred, beat, my eyes awakened as if coming out of a deep, dark sleep I hadn’t realized I had been in.

I drive by another, pushing a cluttered grocery cart, walking where cars are supposed to be going, Him oblivious, me seeing…as if for the first time.

My first love, not lined in gold robs, from earthly thrones; not parading himself through the walls of Jerusalem…but now seen like this broken, wrapped up in Love, all consuming.

And I realize I had been blind, not seeing.

This thin one with gentle eyes, dangling a long dirty beard, and a cart full of his supplies….

Both of us going nowhere, just stumbling through this life.

And I realize, we are not much different.

Still it burns, this waking of my once quieted soul, this passion taking hold, for the least of these.  

I stretch, turn, find myself almost unfamiliar with this heart of compassion I am feeling for the raggedy I see near me.

I enter the store, turn to get a red onion from a produce isle filled with people.

People yesterday, I might not have known or seen.

His dark glasses and long feeling stick alert me. I see him standing there, fiddling blindly, trying to open one of those plastic produce bags.

And though I so-called can see, I still fumble with the opening these same bags too.

I stop, wait.  Realizing too often how I have failed to see, been blind mostly to the beautifully broken around me.

How often have I missed the most precious people standing in front of me, because I did not stop or ask for the eyes of Jesus, to see.

And my heart grips, takes hold. I want to hug this man I don’t even know.  Walk Him through the store….

Because no one in this life should be both blind and alone.  Yet, how many of us are both…and don’t even know it?

I pass the many.  Wondering why God keeps highlighting the hurting, those He might have stopped for, touched, reached for in society…

And I wonder if I had walked in His footsteps, would I have been like the disciples, saying…

“Keep back the children”, or “Why go through Samaria?”, “or, “don’t pour all that oil….we could sell it, and give the money to the poor.”

Would I have been more religious than loving, not even knowing how I could be separating myself from this heart of God that never forsakes the hurting, who fed the hungry, put mud on blind eyes, to help them see?

Still, I have tried to be Jesus, but have fallen short, miserably.  Tripped, done things finding myself carnal, human, more ignorant than I ever was before…

Still isn’t it most in this, serving those around us, where grace falls?

And maybe it’s not in our strength, but in the weakness, He is revealed most.

And don’t, His eyes scan the earth, looking for the willing, giving faith to those who often are poor, humble, hurting, needy…

And don’t humble hearts are always spill over with the fullness of His glory?

And isn’t it all by grace, solely, any of us can see? 

And oh how I want more of Him, less of me.

She fills her sacks, with hundred’s of Bratsworths.  This older Russian lady who appears to have just entered our country.

And instead of watching, like I did the blind man, the homeless….I venture out and talk to her.

She is different. But I see her with His eyes.  So, I talk…

Stretch.

And doesn’t every good thing come from stretching, leaning, digging deeper, stepping forward, not back, from others?

“That’s lots of Bratsworth”, I spill.  Then start doubting almost instantly if she can  even speaks English.

And what are these walls?  The ones almost instantly surfacing when we reach?  The lies that slip in when we press towards those around us?

“They are for my church”, she almost whispers.

And like the blind man, the homeless, my heart fills with overwhelming love for her. I want to reach out and tell her, “we are sisters”…because compassion moved me so…

Still, why didn’t I know, that sparkle in her eyes was a sign saying, “I am a believer”, long before, judging her from the outside.

“That’s wonderful”, I smile so big, hoping my glow alone will alert her that I too am a Christian.

We both smile, nod, exchange a few more words….then go our ways.

And why in the busiest of our days, do we often miss the people Jesus would have seen? Knowing the foreigners, the outcast, the blind, the broken are only opportunities to love?

And today I realize, it’s o.k. to feel their pain, to reach a hand, to listen and try to understand where others are coming from…even, especially when people are different.

Because once, Jesus saw me.  There in my sin; lost, blind, utterly despicable and needy….

He didn’t leave me.  He didn’t walk by.  He didn’t ignore me because I was out from the fold….

Homeless, blind, a foreigner in this land…

And yet, He spoke.  Was kind. Reached out His hand and said, “You are mine”.

Oh Lord, give me your eyes to see as you see, to love so overwhelmingly that I stop, look, listen for opportunities to walk towards….not away from others with the heart that you love.

UNITE LINK PARTY

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