It's probably time for a new eyeglass prescription. I find myself taking my glasses off numerous times a day and laying them aside, preferring to squint rather than to wear them. It's time, taking its inevitable toll. These old peepers take in a lot of information on any given day, from the first glance at the digital readout on the alarm clock to the final word on the printed page fading as I drift off to sleep, more often than not, the book still propped up in front of me.

I cannot imagine not being able to see, to read, to peer into the night sky or to watch thunderheads build and lightning flash. It is a blessing I try to be mindful of day by day, knowing full well that there are those who have never seen, or are no longer able to see what I see, who have never seen or are no longer able to gaze across the vast expanse of prairie, wondering anew at the world the Lord God has made.

But this vision I cherish so has a dark side as well. It seems to be the way of things here in our broken world. How many times have these eyes clouded over with tears at what is seen? Hungry children lying next to their heartbroken and hungry mothers, no food in sight, a curse found by the blessedness of sight. Broken men, dressed in filthy rags, sleeping in doorways, or curled up in sleeping bags on a hillside slope next to the railroad tracks, nowhere to call home, no one left to call them home. The heartbreak of a flag-draped coffin or the face of a youngster surrounded by the brief words that describe a life cut off too soon by illness or injury - more tears, another curse found by the blessedness of sight.

How often have my eyes been assaulted by the sight of war, of bombs, of hatred unleashed by the powerful against the weak? Once is one time too many, yet the images seem to be endless as the conflicts continue on a global scale.

Once upon a time, I was oblivious to these dark vistas. Distractions were a dime a dozen back then. Something has changed. I think it's me.

 

Oh, the distractions are still there. There's always some mindless sitcom, life's troubles neatly wrapped up in 30 minutes time, to provide momentary oblivion. If that's not enough, don't worry, another one follows the first, regular as clockwork. If I'm altogether desperate, or too lazy to use the clicker, I can always while another hour of my life away watching American Idol, able to join in the inevitable celebration or wake that follows at work the next day. And I'll readily admit, my free time reading is usually light; more distraction than education, more entertainment than edification. By day's end, I'm ready for distraction. The day has taken its inevitable toll and my suddenly keen sense of vision has worn me out.

 

The blinders are off. The prayer for eyes to see and ears to hear has been answered. And it is both a blessing and a curse. Wanting to love God with all my heart, my soul, my mind and my strength comes at great personal cost. Because to love him thusly requires that I love what he loves. And what he loves is us. And we are a mess.

 

That hungry child, so weary he can do nothing but rest upon his exhausted, hungry mother's lap? There's no earthly excuse for it. The resources are available. Greed, corruption and evil men block the resources from those that need them most desperately.

The homeless man in the doorway or sleeping on the hillside? Most likely a victim of the enemy of all men, who has broken through and destroyed the heart and the soul of this man, replacing truth with lies and compassion with compulsion. Again, the resources are available, but are stymied by red tape, bureaucracy and our enlightened view of life where all things are permissible except God and the healing he holds in his hand for each one who calls upon him.

 

More and more I see the hopelessness, the helplessness, the futility of lives lived without purpose, lives lived in rebellion and open opposition to the truth of who we are, where we came from and where we are meant to go from here. And it grieves my soul. Jesus saw all of this and more. No wonder he was called a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief. Yet, he promises joy everlasting, in a place where God himself will wipe away our tears, if only we will believe.

The world is dark and barren, a tasteless wasteland, yet we are called to be both salt and light. And our tears, brothers and sisters, as the song by Michael W. Smith says, are "older than the rain." Perhaps they are the source of our saltiness, just as Jesus is the source of all light.

 "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy." Psalm 126:5 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Sitcoms