Let me tell you about how messed up I am at times. I saw a homeless man the other day while riding my bike to work. Now, he too was riding his bike (but with far more recyclables in tow). Of course, I have great compassion at seeing the saddened faces of the homeless, but this was different. Instead of having a sad face or a down look, he was grinning from ear to ear.
What’s disturbing to me is that instead of thinking, ‘Wow, this guy takes joy in life even in the midst of such great lows (garbage picking for aluminum and plastic),’ I thought, “This guy is senile! Look at him smiling that big.” The Lord quickly convicted me of being so judgmental. How is it that I can look at a sad homeless man and have compassion and yet a happy one moves me strai
ght to comments of senility!?
Soon after seeing smiley, I witnessed a blind man walking down Tully. I couldn’t believe it. How could anyone blind walk down such a busy, noisy sidewalk and not worry about getting hurt or hit. How can the one to whom everything is invisible hear his way through the chaos of lunch traffic? Did he hear me pass him? Then it struck me…
I’m sure his other four senses have been trained to a greater sensitivity to compensate for the one missing. His sense of hearing, smell, and touch allowed him to comprehend the invisible. He knew what noises to shun and which ones to embrace.
When it comes to our invisible God, I need to take a lesson from the blind man. I need be careful to shun the noise that keeps me from navigating closer to Him while embracing the ways in which He speaks; inviting me close. Maybe if I tune out the unhelpful messages received by my senses, I might instead sense the closeness of God… my proximity to invisibility.
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