I remember sprinting around the doctor's office to look out of windows because I'd never clearly seen leaves on a tree or individual blades of grass or even the freckles on my very own face. I remember how good it felt to finally see.
I remember being in the fourth grade and my eye doctor telling me he thought I was responsible enough to wear contacts. I remember the first couple of weeks walking around with these little guys in my eyes being terrified that one would unexpectedly pop out and I would be helpless, without sight. As the years went on though, I stopped worrying. They became so familiar to me that I stopped remembering I was even wearing them. They became my invisible lifeline to the world of sight.
I remember all of these things because last week I lost my contacts for three days and it was the worst. Having peripheral vision even with glasses? Not a chance. Wanna go on a run? Forget about it. It was awful and I actually cried about it at one point. But just as I was sitting in the middle of my floor so mad at myself, I remembered the joy I had the very first time I put on a pair of glasses.
Our desperate need for Christ is not circumstantial and does not lessen with time just like I will always need help seeing every single day. King David rights a psalm where he says, "Restore in me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me (Psalm 50:12)." I want the joy I had in the beginning of my walk with Jesus. I want to run around with a new eyes seeing the world that He created. I want to savor the joy of life with Jesus forever.
For me, following Christ is sometimes a hard balance between being comfortable to sit in his love and constantly being blown away by that same love. My feelings ebb and flow and I let my joy follow their current. Maybe I'll never truly figure out the balance, but I know that Jesus is just as sweet today as he was the summer day that I gave my life to him eight years ago.
So here's to old joy becoming new. Here's to beauty made from ashes.
I remember being in the fourth grade and my eye doctor telling me he thought I was responsible enough to wear contacts. I remember the first couple of weeks walking around with these little guys in my eyes being terrified that one would unexpectedly pop out and I would be helpless, without sight. As the years went on though, I stopped worrying. They became so familiar to me that I stopped remembering I was even wearing them. They became my invisible lifeline to the world of sight.
I remember all of these things because last week I lost my contacts for three days and it was the worst. Having peripheral vision even with glasses? Not a chance. Wanna go on a run? Forget about it. It was awful and I actually cried about it at one point. But just as I was sitting in the middle of my floor so mad at myself, I remembered the joy I had the very first time I put on a pair of glasses.
Our desperate need for Christ is not circumstantial and does not lessen with time just like I will always need help seeing every single day. King David rights a psalm where he says, "Restore in me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me (Psalm 50:12)." I want the joy I had in the beginning of my walk with Jesus. I want to run around with a new eyes seeing the world that He created. I want to savor the joy of life with Jesus forever.
For me, following Christ is sometimes a hard balance between being comfortable to sit in his love and constantly being blown away by that same love. My feelings ebb and flow and I let my joy follow their current. Maybe I'll never truly figure out the balance, but I know that Jesus is just as sweet today as he was the summer day that I gave my life to him eight years ago.
So here's to old joy becoming new. Here's to beauty made from ashes.
