Seen
I've been asking for eyes to see the past few weeks. Until last night I thought that was a good thing. I thought it was good to see the whole picture, to see people, to not walk past the lame and the blind without stopping to ask, talk, and pray. This weekend is teaching me, though, that seeing doesn't matter as much as I want it to.
I think I want to see because I want to be seen.
Because the world is full of blindness and I don't want to be one more blind beggar, unfurling out my need and ignorant of others. I want to see.
Isaiah saw and instead of being seen in return, though, he was sent. He saw, saw his uncleanliness, and was commissioned. Whether it was on account of his uncleanliness or his willingness to be sent, I don't know. I think it might have been both.
I think God is looking for willingness, but he's also looking for the ones who stand, head bowed, saying "Woe is me." He wants us to be familiar with the brokenness of our own souls before we go about representing Him. He uses the sinner to show His sinlessness.
This paradox confuses me.
Jesus said "My food is to do the will of Him who sent me" and "I do what I see my Father doing." Jesus, God in flesh, knew His place.
I'm still going to ask for eyes to see, but mostly I'm going to ask for eyes to see my own sinfulness. I want to know my place.
And I want to see Him most of all.
