Wesley's Eyes

Somewhere along the line Christians got it wrong (sort of). Many are uncomfortable with the ol’ adage “to accept God into your heart” for arguably good reason. I am less concerned with whether there is a theological battle to be fought than just generally convinced of its physiological inaccuracy. Here’s what I mean: We've missed that God lives in our eyes! I witnessed it the other day.

I saw him today for the first time in at least a month. One of my good friends, Wesley, has been in recovery, and I’ve missed him like you miss a high school friend that got a great scholarship to go to college…on the other side of the country. I thought I missed his bellowing laugh the most—yeah, the one that defies typical barriers like walls, windows, and distance. From up to a 100 meters Wesley's laugh reaches you with that curious combination of hilarity and nuisance. I thought perhaps I missed his stories the most—yeah, the endless stories of navigating the streets after dark, avoiding weapons, embracing liquor, and losing even the memory of comfortable sleep. I thought I missed his hand shake I received every morning before we would sit and share pre-ground, flavorless coffee—yeah, the size and texture of those hands confirmed his barely-believable stories of a hard life on the farm. But it was none of these as much as it was his eyes that I missed.

When I saw him the other day I realized I missed his eyes because in those charcoal, almost purple pearls, I saw Wesley’s whole life—the one he lived and the unveiling of the one to come. In his eyes, he was an honest friend, broken by the streets, cursed by his addictions. In his eyes, the hardship of age and insecurity met with youth. [You know, if you look into someone’s eyes with enough intention, at any age, they become an innocent child, as if their bodies lost the fight of time but their eyes somehow succeeded. Perhaps it’s God’s presence there that preserves our last ounce of innocence and love, even after our bodies have surrendered to this world.] But above everything, when I looked into my friends eyes, I saw God dawning a new day. They spoke of sobriety and hope. They told his story of renewed confidence and self-respect. And they shouted of grace.

For the first time Welsey saw an optometrist. “I didn’t know how bad my sight was,” he told me, “Now I can actually see!” God is in those old eyes, and I was lucky enough to be a witness the other day—even behind those thick-rimmed glasses.

-Ryan