‘I’m ok with how I am,’ Cam said at supper the other night. ‘If God ever heals me, it’ll be quite an adjustment.’
We were sitting outside so there was a candle by his plate because it was dusk-turning-dark and he likes to know what he’s eating. I can’t remember how the un-deep, un-serious convo got there. It was a small matter-of-fact moment, and we moved on.
But his words stayed with me.
We’re used to his visual impairment, and so is he. We instinctively, habitually, perpetually, unremarkably twiddle the focus dials of his life to bring things into view and mostly, we see the able not the label.
We seldom allow him or ourselves the luxury of self-pity, because even legitimate self-pity is ugly, and unsuccessful.
Also, Wilfredo de Jesús reckons, ‘Understanding can wait, but obedience cannot.’ We totally just have to keep on doing the Next Right Thing until eternity where Cam’s vision and everything else will be made clear.
Still, I guess it’s ok to pause – without wallowing. To question – without losing hope.
In the pausing and the questioning, this surfaced:
‘I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness – secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, the One who calls you by name.’ (Isaiah 45:3)
It’s Christmas in a month and I’m wondering if perhaps you’re surrounded by darkness of your own. As you pause – and question – maybe you could hang your Christmas hope on this:
God’s got treasures for you.
The treasures are hidden. Not obvious or apparent.
The treasures are hidden in darkness. Things will be tough.
The riches are a secret. Many – most – won’t ever know about them.
You’re given the treasures and the riches so you may know Him, and know that you’re known by Him.
This is the season of night-watch shepherds on darkened hillsides blinded by angel tidings.
This is the season of treasures and gifts brought to a King who was the greatest treasure and gift ever, born into the darkness of human history and human hearts.
This is the season of peace on earth and goodwill to all men and we’d do well to be kind to each other, recognizing we’re all disabled and disoriented by our sin, or our circumstances. Usually both.
You’re not all you should be or could be, just like everyone. But it’s likely you’re also far more than the sum of people’s perceptions of you – because there are hidden-glittering-things that only form in obscurity. Whether people notice or know about them, you’re wholly known by a holy God who was willing to break thick dark to floodlight the mineshafts of your diamond-forging soul. He defines you, defends you, promotes you – and rewards you like no Black Friday deal ever.
I’m praying this Christmas you get to unwrap the secret riches of redemption stories that tell about how you wouldn’t have had it any other way.
. . .
Happy weekend, friend!
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