Scripture standout: John 9: "13 They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. 14 Now the day on which Jesus had made the mud and opened the man’s eyes was a Sabbath. 15 Therefore the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight. “He put mud on my eyes,” the man replied, “and I washed, and now I see.”
Morning thoughts: Today's Forward Movement devotional is once again, pretty great. I wonder who this guy is who is writing them. It sounds like he's had a troubled past, but he writes so beautifully of his present and his observances. I like it!
I just stepped outside on the back porch. We’re enjoying a soft, steady, soaking rain. The sound of it on the metal roof complements the visual feast that is our backyard: a virtual canopy of green with hickory and oaks towering over redbuds and smaller flowering undergrowth, including several hundred baby pine trees I recently planted. Inside, my best friend and wife is sleeping in, surrounded by our seven furry children—five cats and two dogs.
Almost five years ago, we found this place, nestled in the middle of twenty wooded acres. We were able to get a loan and begin paying for it. It is our home and it frequently takes my breath away. A few moments ago, I took a deep breath, stood and stretched, and wondered for the thousandth time, “How did I get here?”
Given what my life was before the breaks and blessings of the past twenty years, how could I close my eyes to my wonderful existence? Within the last month, I’d done it again: gratitude had been replaced by dissatisfaction, acceptance by intolerance, joy by anger, faith by fear.
I know how my eyes were opened. But why do I keep closing them again?
Last night, I had a hard time sleeping. I think in my case, I want my eyes to shut to the worry, stewing, and ridiculous gobbldy gook that keeps a mom up at night. I want my eyes open to the truth — that all these silly little things rolling around in my head through the night are just that — silly and little. Like the writer, I want my eyes open to joy, acceptance and faith. But I am praying they will close when my head hits the pillow. Darn peepers!
I'm no Biblical historian or theologian, but that story from John about Jesus putting mud on the guy's eyes so he can see sounds — relaxing. Can I be honest and say it reminds me of having a facial? Mud in one way sounds dirty and yuck. And I don't know why Jesus felt like he had to smear dirt in this guy's eyes to heal him. I'm sure there's great symbolism in dirt and earth. But in another, more spa-like sense, moist dirt sounds heavenly, healing, soothing. Just an observation. It's a vision I will be praying for tonight when it's time for bed.
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