This morning is cold. I debate going back to bed. But instead I put on my fleece jacket and I sit at the kitchen table. I turn to Colossians 1:15-20. I read. Paul glories.

I remember a traveling pastor preaching on this passage about 12 years ago. I remember him exulting over the risen Christ. I remember his passion.

But this morning I stop mid-sentence because my coffee is ready. I come back and start over because I lost the train of thought. It’s hard to follow this morning.

I don’t see Christ.

I read it again. “O God, show me Christ.”

I still don’t see him. I don’t glory in what I read.

I keep plodding. I keep reading. I keep begging, “Let me see Christ.”

This is not easy work. It’s not like facebook where if you don’t get the point when you read, “Little buddy #2!” There’s a picture of a newborn to fill in the details.

I know if I could just get this image in my mind it would change my day. It would change my life.

I beg more. I read more. I see him. A little.

When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?”

He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.”

Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restore, and he saw everything clearly.”


 I can only make out a vague outline. I beg again:

Don’t leave me content with cloudy vision.
Touch me twice.
Restore my sight completely.
Let me see Jesus is the Christ.

I begin again, “He is the image of the invisible God…” 

My toddler wakes up.

I will read again tomorrow.


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