Do You See?

In Annie Dillard’s book, the Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, the narrator tells a story of how, though many fingers were pointing to a frog, she had great difficulty seeing it, camouflaged as it was.  And how drawing horses on her cousin’s ranch, though difficult for her, was second nature to the children who see the horses all the time.  She proceeds to describe how humanity, as complex as it is, sees only about 30 percent of the light, only a fraction of what simple, single-celled organisms can perceive: they do not have the mechanisms to filter out that information.  Humanity is so highly developed, so complex, that we no longer have the ability to see clearly.

This Lent I’ve decided to turn off Netflix, turn off Facebook, turn off my phone at home.  I’m so preoccupied that I can’t see the things close me.  I’m burdened by not only my the narrowness of my human body, my tunnel vision, but also my desire to be disconnected.  Some days it's just easier to be status update or snarky quip.  But Lent offers me an opportunity for me to take a look at my heart.  And it's not a pretty, Instagrammed picture. 

My sins are a blindfold and I want to see.
God, help me to be vulnerable.

I’m a sinner for wanting more than I have.  

God, help me to see the gifts in my life and be grateful.

I’m a sinner for trying to be who I am not.  

God, help me to see myself as the person you created me to be.

I’m a sinner for asking the world to bend to my will.  

God, help me to see my place in the world, and live it gracefully.

I’m a sinner for being too complicated to see the light clearly.  

God, help me to see how I can live more simply.