Eyes of the Heart, The: Seeing God's Hand in the Everyday Moments of Life

by Tracie Peterson

  Maybe from a distance you give the appearance of a generous person. Everyone is fairly sure of who and what you are, until they get next to you. Standing up close and personal, they find there is nothing but a shell—a silhouette.

  “God with skin on” doesn’t mean we become gods or that we take God’s place. It means we let God fill us—work through us—permeate everything about us. As we draw on Him for nourishment, we fatten up. Our frame fills out, and we put flesh on the bones. But better still, we have real substance, and that substance is God himself. We become His ambassador. Not us in our strength, but God in His.

  Fear may well have kept the priest or the Levite from helping the beaten man on the roadside. They might have been afraid of what would be required of them should they stop. Worse yet, it might have been a trick—an ambush that would cost them their own purses or lives. Then again, their schedules may have been pressed, and they wanted no part of something that would disrupt their day. Or, they could have simply not cared. Disinterested, they left the problem for someone else.

  Their attitude might well have been “If I don’t acknowledge him, he isn’t really there.” A good many people have that attitude. Many towns refuse to build homeless shelters, because if they don’t build it—they won’t come. At least that’s the hope, but it’s seldom the reality. If we close our eyes and plug our ears and walk on by, then we won’t see or hear the unpleasant things that might require that we care. We can go on being silhouettes of what God intends us to be.

  “But I don’t have the time or the strength or the money to help,” you might say. I know, because I’ve said those same things.

  I’ve come to learn that God in us gives us the strength and ability to bear things we never thought we could bear. We can deal with uncomfortable people in our life. In fact, after a time we realize there aren’t as many difficult people as we imagined. God has given us new eyes in which to see them and a new heart with which to love them. They aren’t quite as unlovely or as unlovable as we once thought.

  Who’s bleeding on your street?

  Maybe you find yourself face-to-face with the homeless. Perhaps teenagers or young adults who dress in gothic black and pierce their bodies are those you find in your path. Or the elderly with minds fading to Alzheimer’s disease might be the wounded you go out of your way to avoid.

  God in us allows us to bind up bleeding wounds, even if we used to faint at the sight of blood. He stands with us, even when we’re afraid. He gives us power to face unpleasant situations, even dangerous ones: lions’ dens and fiery furnaces.

  Don’t be a silhouette of what God wants you to be. People are dying right in front of you. They are beaten and stripped of everything. Will you walk on by?

  29

  The Storm Around Us

  At the age of nineteen, our daughter Julie decided to take a long-distance trip with friends. We held great concern for her the entire time. She was driving a car that was less than reliable, and not one person in the group had much money. We prayed for her while she was gone, but I have to admit, I wasn’t very good about letting go and letting God take care of the situation.

  Parents never stop worrying about their child. They never stop caring, even when their child is an adult. Maybe especially when their child is an adult. It’s hard to remember that God is in control even when you no longer are.

  We weren’t all that surprised when Julie called for help. They were on their way home, with nearly two hundred miles yet to go, when the car’s engine blew. I was more than a little frustrated and a whole lot worried. I began to pray, not wanting my worry to absorb me, but my focus was on my child. I worried whether or not there would be good people to help her. I stewed and fretted over the image of my daughter being stranded in a strange place with no money for food or a place to stay.

  We loaded up the car and headed out as quickly as we could. Bad weather had been forecast. Dangerous thunderstorms and high winds were possibilities. We lived in Kansas then, and the threat of tornadoes always accompanied those thunderstorms. But our child was in need, and the thought of her stranded in a strange town was more terrifying than the possible storm. This was especially true given all the horror stories on television that tell us about young women who have disappeared for seemingly no reason.

  I continued to think about the situation all the way down Interstate 70 as we headed for Missouri. I knew my mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be, but I kept telling God that Julie was my child, and I needed to know that she was safe and sound. I went back and forth between being angry that she’d taken the trip in the first place to being grateful that she’d felt comfortable enough to call us for help. I pleaded with God to make the time and distance pass more quickly so that we could see for ourselves that Julie was all right.

  We arrived in the small town of Kingdom City, Missouri, to find the kids doing pretty well. They were burned out and tired from long hours on the road, but otherwise they were in good spirits. We took care of the car situation and then loaded the young people and their gear into our van. It was cramped quarters, for sure.

  “We’re going to have to hurry to get this all loaded before it starts to rain,” I told them. Now that Julie was out of danger, I was looking to the skies. My husband concurred with this assessment, and everyone went to work double-time as the skies got darker and darker.

  We hit the highway just as the first few drops of rain started to fall. I was driving and figured if the worst we had to endure was a steady downpour, I could handle it. But that wasn’t the worst of it. As the skies churned in the distance, we knew we were heading into a nasty storm. There was no other direction to go. The way home was through that storm.

  Sometimes in life we face a similar situation. We see the skies turn dark and hear the rumble of thunder: A child falls into bad company and makes some poor choices. We know we have to deal with it, but the horror of the storm is enough to make us want to turn back.

  Or, the storm could be an abusive marriage. The threat of harm is great, and we have no choice but to drive head-on into gale-force winds.

  Whatever the storm, the situation is never easy to face, and often the terror before us is all we can see. Our attention is so completely fixed on the circumstances that we forget there is a source of comfort to be had.

  As the storm on I-70 closed in, we realized we needed to get off the road. The rain was coming down so hard we couldn’t even see beyond the windshield. We were going to have to sit it out with nothing more than our vehicle for protection. My heart was doing a rapid staccato beat as the wind picked up and began to rock the car.

  Then I began to pray through my anxiety. I would rather have been just about anyplace but where we were. The radio announcer advised everyone to take cover. In our neck of the woods, that’s a pretty serious statement. If a storm like this had come up at home, we would have been safe in the basement, fairly at peace with the elements around us. But that wasn’t an option. As the storm raged around us with lightning and thunder so loud we were sure it might shatter the windows, God taught me a very important lesson.

  So long as I remained in the van, the storm wasn’t really touching me. The wind howled and rocked the car, but it wasn’t harming me. The rain and even a little hail assaulted the outside frame, but inside we were safe and dry. My spirit began to calm as I got a picture of my life. Storms might rage around me at any given time, for any number of reasons. They could come in the form of rains: an annoying deluge of bills or hurt feelings. They could build to terrifying thunderstorms: family illness or ugly arguments. There could even be an occasional tornado of devastating news: Grandma has Alzheimer’s. A loved one has died of a heart attack. Good friends are getting a divorce.

  Storms will rage, because that’s the way life is. God’s protection, however, is there for anyone who seeks it. He offers a refuge where we can ride out the storm. He only asks that we come to Him, that we stay with Him.

  Had I opened the door and stepped out into the
storm, I would have been overcome by the wind and the rain. I might even have been struck by lightning. I would no longer have the protection of the van. The same is true with the storms of life. Sometimes we step out into the middle of them, when we don’t need to go beyond the shelter God has provided for us.

  You might think it sounds pretty crazy that anyone would deliberately step out into a storm, but we do it all the time. We do it when we try to fix our children’s lives. We do it when we demand our way in the middle of conflict only to create a bigger problem. We act first, without thought. We take our eyes off of God and put them onto the conditions around us, and the fear leaves us unable to sit still and ride out the storm.

  The storm was never intended to be the focus of our attention. The storm is often the Enemy trying to distract us and steal our peace. God offers us refuge in the middle of our daily storms, no matter how big or small they are. But the choice of whether or not we accept the shelter is up to us. He doesn’t impose His protection upon us. Instead, He shows us the contrast: how it is and how it can be.

  There’s a storm brewing in your life. Maybe it’s off on the horizon, not yet close enough to define. Or maybe the storm is well within sight, but you’ve denied its existence. Each of us will have storms, but how we deal with them is up to us.

  Your Father in heaven offers you protection: “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’ ” (Psalm 91:1–2).

  We need not fear the coming storm, because God offers us a shelter. Run to it and be safe.

  That day in Missouri, the storm finally passed, and we were unharmed. We finished the drive home in a light rain, and the road was clear. Since that time, I’ve often remembered the truth I learned that day: Though storms may rage around us, we can choose to stay in the safe place.

  God offers you shelter. He longs to give you a place of refuge and rest. No matter what you might see on the horizon, don’t be afraid. God has opened the door to protection. Rest inside and wait out the storm. There’s no need to be dampened by even the tiniest drop of rain. The storm can’t touch you, if you stay inside with your Father.

  30

  Long-Distance Relationships

  “I don’t believe God really cares,” a friend opened a conversation with me one day. “He seems so distant—so far removed from me and my problems. I used to feel close to God,” she admitted. “Now I feel like He’s a million miles away.”

  Ever feel that way?

  Have you ever felt like the only way to get through to God would be on a long-distance call, only you didn’t have the correct change—or a calling card?

  Have you ever looked up at the end of the day, riddled with problems and cares, only to feel certain that if you prayed you’d hear a message like “We’re sorry, but this number has been disconnected.”

  One woman told me, “I can’t seem to make my human relationships work right, and those people are right here beside me. How in the world am I supposed to make a relationship with God work when He’s way up in heaven, and I’m way down here on earth?”

  A long-distance relationship is how many people perceive a relationship with God. They joke about it: “Hello, this is the heavenly hot line. If you’ve called to talk to God about a problem, please press one.” They rage about it: “If God really cares—if He were really here—He’d at least protect children from getting hurt.” They cry about it: “Where are you, God? Why is this happening?”

  God seems to live on some distant celestial shore that could never be bridged in a million years.

  When I was twelve years old, I met Pam for the first time. Pam and I instantly clicked. We share many of the same likes and dislikes. I knew I would care about this girl for the rest of my life. I had great plans for how we would go to school together, grow up, and double date. We’d graduate and go off to college together and marry and have children and live next door to each other. At least that was the plan.

  Then her military-obligated father was reassigned to an air force base in Alaska. That was about three thousand miles from Kansas, and it didn’t bode well with my plans. Telling my friend Pam good-bye was the hardest thing I’d done in my twelve years. I was heartbroken, and it wasn’t helped by well-meaning folk who told me I’d soon find a new friend.

  Pam and I began a letter-writing campaign that crossed the years. We told each other everything. We grew up together on the pages of hastily scribbled notes. We talked about our dates, our mates, and our children. We helped each other with spiritual matters and lifted each other up when things were bad.

  Once in a while we’d call long-distance, and in recent years we’ve enjoyed e-mail. In thirty years we’ve seen each other face-to-face only three times. The distance sometimes seems terribly far, and yet at other times it seems as if Pam were just next door. But always, always, I know she cares, and I know she’s there for me.

  How is it that we can believe in a friend who lives hundreds, even thousands of miles away, but we struggle to believe in a God who promised to come to us and reside with us—if we would simply ask Him to?

  Our relationship with God can be so much more than our human friendships, and yet we seem to put Him on the back burner. Some folks see the relationship as a long-distance one. God lives way up there somewhere. He looks down affectionately at His children and from time to time gives them a warm, fuzzy feeling. Others believe in a more personal walk: a one-on-one through Jesus Christ that allows them to better understand their Father in heaven. They pray, read their Bibles, even fellowship with other believers, but when something goes wrong—really wrong—they get on the phone to their human friends, sometimes completely bypassing their best friend, Jesus.

  Not long ago we moved to Montana, and in so doing, we left dear friends and family in Kansas. The distance is more than a day trip, and sometimes the separation seems tremendous. Yet we chose to make this journey, to endure the losses.

  Sometimes we choose to distance ourselves from God as well. We know His love and comfort, we share in His goodness, and then we pull up stakes and head off for parts unknown. We know God is out there; we know how to get to Him, but we’re focused on new territories and new adventures.

  I call my friends from time to time. Sometimes out of need and frustration. Other times in joy and delight. I write to them and get letters in return. I know from firsthand experience as a twelve year old, that distance doesn’t have to be a great enemy when it comes to friends.

  But distance between God and us is always an enemy to our relationship. The distance allows us to forget. We forget the promises, the hopes, the responsibilities.

  The distance makes us look to other things for comfort. When my friend Pam moved to Alaska, I tried to find comfort in television. When we move away from God, we often seek comfort in a variety of ways: people, places, or things. We may turn to comforting ourselves with buying lovely possessions, or to the influence of people and events. And all the while we feel isolated, homesick; and we never really understand why.

  A youth leader I knew was fond of saying, “If you don’t feel close to God . . . guess who moved?” And it’s true. God is stable. He is real and sure and certain. He is steadfast. We are the ones who have a tendency to move around. Just one little step at a time puts us at quite a distance, and before we know it, we’ve made a major move away from our best and most trusted friend, Jesus.

  Sometimes, sadly enough, it’s only after moving away that we realize God was never very far at all. He was there with us the whole time. He was there when we lost our job, and we didn’t know how we would ever meet that month’s bills. He was there when the diagnosis was terminal, and the doctors all walked away. He was there when we needed Him the most, yet we somehow relegated Him to a faraway celestial home—available to us only through a long-distance service that had poor reception and outrageous prices.

  When I don’t feel close to my frien
ds, I know either they chose to move away or I did.

  When I don’t feel close to God, I know who moved. I’ve only myself to blame.

  The last chapter of Luke talks about Jesus appearing to His disciples after His resurrection. They still believe He’s dead. They’d seen Him crucified and buried. “As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him” (24:15–16).

  Why didn’t they recognize Him? Was it the grief, the confusion, or was it disbelief?

  What keeps you from recognizing Him as He walks alongside you?

  What lie has convinced you that a relationship with God requires a long-distance effort?

  Jesus later chides these men for not understanding what He’d shared with them prior to His death. “Did not the Christ have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” He asks in verse 26.

  The group continues walking with Jesus. Yet they still don’t realize the truth. It isn’t until they are sitting together at a table and Jesus blesses the food and breaks the bread that their eyes are opened.

  What will it take for you to realize the truth?

  Jesus isn’t a long-distance friend—out there somewhere. He came to you when you asked Him into your heart, and He’s never gone away. Sometimes, just like with the disciples, He makes himself very apparent. Other times, when we’ve chosen to move away, He waits patiently for us to send out the call. But always He is with us, even to the end of the age, just as He said He would be in the very last verse of the book of Matthew.

  Does Jesus seem far away? Put down the phone. Put away that calling card. Open your eyes—the eyes of your heart—and call to Him. He’s there right beside you, standing by. No busy signals. No long-distance operator needed.

  I hear Him now. “Welcome back, beloved.”

  31

  A Clearer Picture