The Eyes Have It
The fourth week of parenthood found Laura and I still running on the fumes of the emotional slip-n-slide of bringing home the baby. We were somewhat accustomed to our new life, but everything rapidly changed everyday. Sadie seemed to grow right before our very eyes and we were just happy to be standing upright—well, most of the time.
It was during these times that I would often accidentally rock myself to sleep in the big, padded recliner/glider in Sadie’s room. The peaceful serenity of her tiny breaths and her cuddly coos combined with the rare moment of sitting still created a recipe for certain snoozes—for both of us.
In the early days, Sadie was pretty well-contained within the sphere of her own babydom. I mean that she kept her arms and legs curled in tightly as a result of nine months of being bundled up in the baby-oven of Mommy (I’m not a doctor; I’ve never claimed to be). Her senses were also confined to a very small radius. She could only see things clearly about six inches from her face. She was unaware when we came and went and was generally oblivious to anything in life besides her own hunger or discomfort.
But at about four weeks, I first began to notice that when I passed by, her eyes moved in my direction. Before this time, the world as she knew it was a planet called Sadietron III located at the very center of the universe and the sole location of all life and existence. Yet suddenly she began to notice that her little world was, in fact, also inhabited by other creatures known as Mommy, Daddy, and a strange little furry fellow named Brutus. Make no mistake—the universe was still revolving around her, but she at least began to acknowledge the existence of other intelligent life out there. At the least, we were there.
When those gorgeous blue eyes began opening wider—little glistening irises meticulously adjusting to the gentle flood of light they were finally beginning to tolerate—my heart expanded yet again to new capacities. When my little girl could finally focus her vision on Daddy, I was elated. From that moment forward, she never “looked” back. She’s followed us with her eyes ever since—especially when she needs something. Food. Diaper. Comfort. Adjustment. Sleep. The eyes began to join the other non-verbal (if you count screaming as non-verbal) forms of communication pouring forth from her being. Some of the “pouring” parts are not as lovely as her eyes.
There is a miracle in awareness—in that moment in time when someone becomes aware of themselves outside of themselves. It is the instance in life when perspective widens and the lens through which the world is viewed suddenly turns from black and white to high definition color. I used to see such life-altering moments in the eyes of students in my classroom when the light bulb suddenly illuminated their cognition and they finally “got it.” I still see it in this adventure in which I live called ministry when someone becomes cognizant of their need for change—of their need for a smothering dose of divinity in the midst of their previously-thought superior humanity.
A change in focus comes across as a change to the whole world around us. Like Scrooge after his visit from the trifecta of Christmas ghosts, nothing about the holiday or the people who had lived near him for many years had changed. Nothing had changed, that is, except himself. To change one’s perspective is to change the world—or at least one’s personal vantage point of it. When we find clarity in our viewpoints and begin to acknowledge truth—truth that has always existed just over the horizon of our own personal spyglass’ range—we begin to change. And when we change, one little part of the world changes as well: our part.
Such is true of Sadie’s new awareness; her world changed because she began to see things a bit more clearly. We looked her straight in eyes and talked to her more directly. We began to better identify her unique expressions. Her change in perception produced a chain reaction of change in action.
Deep stuff, but necessary for understanding our role in the process of truth. Truth is not waiting to be created, only discovered. We would never say that Benjamin Franklin invented electricity or that Christopher Columbus invented the Americas. We would only state that they were some of the first people in their time and culture to change their viewpoint enough to more clearly see something what had already been there for eons.
Oh that we would discover more moments of new awareness in our relationship with the Creator of truth. How often we approach God requesting that our own ideas of what truth should be will appear like stocking stuffers over the mantle of our lives. In reality, our role is to open our eyes and expand our viewpoint to view the wonder of who he already is and what he is already doing around us. Like Sadie, the more we mature, the wider our eyes should open and the more aware we should become of a universe that does not, in fact, revolve around us.
Yet the Eternal Father still stoops down and hovers over the crib of his little ones—delighting in them and watching for the moments when their eyes begin to follow Him.
Psalm 32:8 (NKJV) says, “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye.” What interesting imagery we see here. I “see” it like this: God guides us by moving his eyes to the things he wants us to look at. We find guidance, purpose, and effectiveness when we look in the direction that he’s looking—becoming more aware of his will and more attuned to path we should walk in to find it. But to see what direction he’s looking in, we must first look into his eyes.
Literally, this means we expand our spiritual awareness when we seek to know what lies in the heart of God, not just what lies in his hands for our benefit.
For Sadie, her newfound awareness changed everything. It will for the rest of us as well.
