In him was life and that life was the light of men.
This light shines in the darkness,
but the darkness could not overcome it.
And so we are looking for that blessed hope,
and the glorious reappearing….
The mystery of the ages, The light of life,
Christ in you, the hope of Glory.
John 1:4,Titus 2:13 , Col 1:27
I get a lot of questions about my eyes. “Do I wear contacts?” (yes) “Are they tinted?” (no) Then I get looks of disbelief. I think some people actually think I’m lying. I used to be self-conscious about the questions. I’ve had them often enough now, from complete strangers, that I’m getting kinda used to it.
My eyes are blue. And to me, they’re just blue eyes. But apparently they are on the more rare end of things when it comes to eyes. Men particularly notice eyes. But my girlfriends do too.
Before I ever heard that my eyes were beautiful, I heard they were icy and cold. Not a complimentary thing for a little girl. Some wise person once said that ‘the eyes are the window to the soul.’ Does that mean that my soul is icy and cold? I certainly hope not.
My Grandmother passed away last summer. She was almost 90. For several years her skin had gotten more and more tissue like. On her most frail days, she was afraid for someone to help her up, by holding her arm, for fear her skin would tear. The capillaries beneath her skin were visible through the surface. And often, those capillaries had been broken with dark blood just beneath the skin. Her arms often looked like one big dark bruise. I saw her a few weeks before she had her last downhill slide, and noticed how beautiful she was. She always took great care in her appearance and was a model of gracefulness. It really hit my heart just how though I thought she was beautiful, she probably was quite self-critical of herself when she looked at her own skin. Though I’m young and in the ‘prime’ of my life, she probably didn’t attract much attention from others in the way of her beauty. Yet, to those of us that loved her, she was utterly beautiful. I told her how beautiful she was that day. She said something that really struck me. She said, “I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror.” As her aged hands gently touched her arms and her face, she said “This is body is not me.” How profound! She was right! Her body didn’t begin to reveal the beauty in her soul.
As I watched her over the next few weeks, as she deteriorated physically, I noticed how her eyes were the same grandma that I had always known. Her eyes didn’t age a day since the day I was a little girl. Of course at funerals, everyone pulls out the pictures of someone when they are in their ‘prime’…. And I noticed, that her eyes even in those pictures were just like the eyes of that 90 year old woman whom I loved so much!
When a person dies, the light goes out in their eyes. They body loses it’s life, but it happens first with the eyes. I’ve been to enough funerals that when I see someone in a casket, they don’t even look like themselves whatsoever. Why? Because the life of their soul has left the body. I don’t know what they do in the mortuary, but there is a stark difference between the person that took their last breath and the person we parade by a few days later to pay our final respects. Scary really…. At my funeral… please close the lid!
The glory of God is revealed in the eyes. Someone asked me if I was ‘endangered’ because my eyes are so unique. I had to laugh. But in all seriousness, I realized at that very moment, that the glory of God IS endangered. Until the dragon is cast into the lake of fire, all that is beautiful is endangered. There is a constant battle for pure and exotic beauty. This beauty was assaulted since the beginning of time. Here on earth, it began in the garden. The beauty that can only be created by God’s glory revealed in his handiwork. Men and women cannot even begin to replicate the beauty of God’s work. We try desperately, but the best that we’ve been able to do is to reveal what God already intended and which evils of life have distorted.
Artists, musicians, composers, contractors, gardeners, doctors, plastic surgeons, graphic designers, interior decorators… all these professions which deal in ‘creating’ something beautiful, is merely an attempt at rearranging or fixing the elements that have been lost through the evils of life. It’s a fight against entropy. Sometimes we win. But it is usually only temporary, just for a time. Some attempts at beauty last for centuries, long after the artist has lost their own personal battle with entropy (aging). I have to believe with these creations by an artist that last, have to be God’s way of once again revealing his beautiful glory for us to enjoy. A promise of hope, that one day, all will be right again. Beautiful and exotic, just as it was meant to be.
I got my eyes from my dad. I don’t remember the first time I notice how beautiful his eyes were. Brilliant. Crystal. I’ve seen sternness in those eyes I didn’t want to cross. But I’ve seen a jolliness and kindness in those eyes that endear me to him. Now, age is doing it’s work to hide those eyes. Bushier eyebrows, aging skin. But when the light hits them just right, I see again as if all is new, the glory of God in his eyes and ultimately his soul. It’s stunningly beautiful.
If you think about it, eyes are the window to joy and the window to pain. The orifices that contain the eyes are bowls that also hold the tears of life. Tears that fall when life deals you a blow of pain. Tears that fall when memories of joy and life overcome the present. Is it any accident that the eyes, which are the light of life, are also the parts of the body that reveal the deepest emotions. (Think about it… we don’t cry out our ears.)
Amy Grant sang a song that was popular when I was growing up called “Father’s Eyes”. She’s got her Father’s eyes. Eyes that find the good in things, when good is not around. Eyes that find the source of help, when help cannot be found. Eyes full of compassion, seeing every pain. Knowing what you’re going in through, and feeling it the same. Just like my fathers eyes.
I’ve been through a lot of emotionally challenging things in the last year. My dad has continued to model in my life the beauty of God revealed in masculine form. His eyes have been a window to his soul that is a glimmer of God to me. A father’s heart. So I guess you could say that I’ve got my Fathers eyes, but what is more, my Father’s Eyes have led my heart back home to the Father of all, the one who created my soul to replicate his beauty. So when all is dark and evil seems to be winning, I’m reminded by looking in my father’s eyes that truth and beauty will ultimately win.
If eyes are the window to the soul, then the glory of God is revealed through the eyes. So the next time you look into the eyes of someone you love and trust, see there God’s glory and the hope that all will someday be made right and justice and truth will reign victorious. God’s goodness will come out on top. It’s a beautiful thing, Isn’t it?
It’s been a while since I blogged last. I’ve been wrestling a lot in my mind and heart about a lot of issues that I wanted to work through before I shared them all with my readers. After all, I didn’t start blogging just so I could vomit up all my frustrations with life. In all honesty, I had gotten to the point where I was questioning my own sanity and ability to see anything objectively.


Isn’t he cute? How would you like him pinning you down, chewing on your face? Yes, I know… so I’ve heard….they are ‘affectionate’ dogs.
(Do you see the tongue on this dog?) This was probably a very good thing, because the more she cried and squirmed, the more excited and aggressive the dog became. Thankfully, she managed to only have a few scratches on her. As the dog weighed more than her, he had her pinned down to where she could not move. The dog was determined enough and heavy enough that Reuben had been unable to get the dog off of her. He came in crying, looking for help. His crying was that he was not strong enough to save his sister and that he was sure she would be dead within minutes.
By this point the dog owner came with much remorse and embarrassment to see what damage his dog had done to our little girl. He was extremely apologetic and locked the dog in the vehicle for the rest of the day. This momma informed him, frankly and with no apologies, that had that dog of hurt my baby, the dog would not be alive. With the adrenaline rush that I had, I firmly believe I could have torn that dog into pieces with my bare hands. Worst case, I would have used a gun. I was shaking for a few hours from that adrenaline rush. (Sorry dog lovers — or bull dog lovers; dogs may be cute, but ones that attack my children ARE NOT!)