I hustled out to the porch, flipped open His pages and felt rushed. This new day was but a few yawns and steps old, and I had already managed to rattle off a to-do list. I approached our favorite Book with an agenda. I flipped open the pages and wanted to scarf down a quick meal and then move on.
I knew I awoke hungry. I knew I needed His words. But I thought I could cup my hands around them. My prideful spirit thought I could cut into His word like I would into my breakfast.
By his mercy, I closed my eyes. To my surprise, I heard the birds. Their song came to life as my eyes went dark. My heart was captivated by the sound. My mind was put at ease by the One who orchestrated such beauty. I sat and listened.
I experience much more than the birds song. I felt His spirit. I was comforted by His truth.
Child, you are always this blind. But behold, I am always this beautiful.
I sat and listened. If we really live by faith and not by sight, then I need to be made blind more often. I trust my two eyes far too much. I see and then I conclude. I observe and then I act. There is wisdom in observing, and there is prudence in seeing. Yet, we don’t live by our observations. We don’t move and have our being in what our eyes behold.
Oh, Lord, make me blind so that I can see.
It was as if the birds began to first sing the moment I shut my eyes. I didn’t realize how distracting my sight was to my ears. This is the danger in seeing: We think we understand. I closed my eyes, and the birds reminded me of the invisible Creator. I wish you could have heard them this morning. Not one was out of tune and every bird had a voice. They sang to an invisible tune and it humbled my heart.