My friend Jamie Britt is completely blind and has been since birth. She has never seen sunlight, rose petals, mountains, the colors of a rainbow. She has never seen colors at all, and tells me she has no idea what they are. She has never seen her mother’s face, nor even her own face in a mirror.
Being a visual person, I can’t imagine going through life without working eyes. I’d sooner surrender any of my other senses than go through life without sight. Sight is what most strongly connects me to the world, what grounds me in place and time.
And that’s why, for me, the most challenging part of being a Christian is putting all my hope in what I can’t see. Believers walk by faith and not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). For that reason, we’re told not to bother putting too much stock in what we see around us because it’s temporal. Only what can’t be seen is eternal, and that’s where we’re to place our hope. (2 Corinthians 4:18).
Thank God for working eyes, but apparently they’re no help at all when it comes to what really matters. When it comes to the eternal, I’m flying blind.
I can’t see my Father’s face. I can’t see the branches on the Tree of Life, nor the water in the river that flows from the throne of God. I can’t so much as see a distant light in the window of one of the mansions Jesus spoke about, even though my heart’s navigational system is carrying me there.
And it’s not just the place that’s beyond my view. I can’t even catch a glimpse of what I’m destined to become, because what we as believers are destined to become doesn’t yet exist in this world.
I read many biographies and autobiographies, mostly of historical figures. The title might be something like “The Life of So-and-so” or “So-and-so: A Life,” as though the book is the summation of what that person has done and the final account of what that person became.
But any completed biography is only the prelude to one’s real life. That’s it. At the time of death, the person has only reached Chapter 1 of the real story. Because we can’t fully become in this world what we were created to be. We can only make a start here. The Apostle John, who walked with Jesus in the flesh, tells us that “what we will be has not yet been revealed.” We won’t be our true, complete, real selves until Jesus returns, and then, “we will be like him, for we will see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).
Walking by faith until that time isn’t easy. In fact, it’s a real struggle. My human eyes tell me that I’m getting old, that I haven’t accomplished much in this world, that some of my dreams will go unrealized, that in the end I will slip away unnoticed. As I go through the day-to-day routine of my existence, I sometimes find myself wondering, what’s it all for?
I don’t know. And that’s the thing: I don’t know because I can’t know. At least not fully. I do know in part, because Jesus said those who have ears to hear should listen to his words, because they hold the key to life. I have heard the words of Jesus and they point my heart to that place I cannot see but that I know is there because his words are true. His words are Truth. He has told me that he is preparing a place for me and that when he comes for me, I will see him as he is, and when I see him as he is, I will be like him.
That’s when the real story begins. That’s when my eyes will be opened.
I try to imagine what it would be like for Jamie if suddenly she could see. What would it be like after a lifetime of darkness to see a color, a face, a ray of sunlight? Everything would at last take on shape and brilliance and form, appearing for the first time as it really is. Wouldn’t you and I—if this were us—spend long hours just looking at everything, gazing in amazement at what had been around us all along?
What a day that will be, the very first day we walk by sight, taking in the fulfillment of what God has prepared for those who love him.