Seeing With My Other Eyes

Lydia stood up in front of hundreds of complete strangers and sang her heart out with earnest blue eyes. She had somehow managed to find clean tights and Sunday shoes among boxes stacked three deep in the house she had just moved into. After the first song she walked bravely to the pulpit that dwarfed her pixie-like frame and spoke clearly into the microphone, prompted by a woman she had met only moments before.

Lydia is four years old and that Sunday marked her first week in a new church congregation. The children  presented the program at the service that day. I sat on the back row of the chapel and wept because I knew that my grand-daughter hadn't wanted to move in the first place and that reserve often overtakes her in new situations or among strangers. But not that day. She raised her eyes and lifted her voice and I saw her. I saw her ancient, magnificent soul filling the space above the pulpit, not a bit like a pixie. I sensed the towering being she has always been and will become more completely on her life's journey--ablaze with pure light, her hair lightly brushing the vaulted ceiling above her, blown by an unseen wind. Then my eyes came back into focus on the small girl in the pink sailor dress with the ponytail. An intense wish filled me, a desire to take Lydia's hand and walk with her, to lead her and to follow her.  And I resolved to always see her with those other eyes, and to treat her as the luminous eternal creature that she truly is.

Several questions have lingered in my heart since that cold Sunday morning. What if we went through life with our other eyes wide open? Would it change our responses and interactions day by day if we worked to see in one another the divine, the majestic, the essential? Could we more readily extend respect or patience or compassion to our fellow travelers if we tried to see others as God sees them? How did Lydia tap into her bigger self to rally the courage and confidence to stand and deliver in a new and unfamiliar place? I suspect children have an easier time believing the words they sing at Primary on Sundays,"I am a child of God, and He has sent me here . . ." When we truly understand that simple yet profound truth we can do anything. Our understanding of our own worth and the worth of every single human being we encounter enables us to respond with generous hearts and to stand like Lydia in frightening situations and sing our hearts out.

I've heard of rose-tinted glasses, and I suppose that they could cast a certain lovely softness around our view of the world. But at some point the glasses will come off, or get scratched or stepped on and my view of life would go suddenly gray. I would rather keep my soul-eyes open instead and discern the beautiful and true selves of God's children who cross my path. So don't be surprised if you feel familiar to me when we meet as strangers along the way. I may not know your name, but I know your Father. And when I look at you with my other eyes I can see the resemblance.