My Father’s Eyes

By Lynn Ludwick

The other morning my husband Alan headed to his woodshop dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt. The color suited him well. (Wives notice these things.) When I wear gray, however, I look more in need of a doctor than ready for a day of labor or fun. To me the color speaks of endless sun-deprived, rain-drenched winter days in the Pacific Northwest. For some women it’s the color of Clairol-hungry hair. To many it’s the color of downcast moods and somber thoughts.

I don’t like gray. At least I didn’t until we bought a new home about a decade ago. The house was the right size, the right location and layout, and a better-than-right price. Did I mention it was gray? Inside and out. From its gray exterior to its gray carpet, tile, kitchen sink and stove, to its all-gray fixtures in one bathroom. I griped. But I liked the layout. I whined. But the price was right. Then I got a grip and bucked up. I would be magnanimous and embrace the grayness.

I worried about some of my furniture, our previous home having been a study in California tan. However, when the couch and kitchen chairs were hauled in and set in place, I was astounded. They fit in perfectly. Had the gray tones in the upholstery always been there? Hmm.

Now, after living in that house I actually like gray. Its palest shade seems a bit ho-hum, but silver, pewter, granite, metallic, gunmetal, slate… Lively. Vibrant. It was clearly a matter of perspective.

Our opinions are often the outgrowth of our eye’s viewpoint, sponsored by our hearts. And it can go either way. If we have certain prejudices, outward appearances will validate our preconceptions. On the other hand, our heart can lead us to overlook discrepancies. To a mommy, a dandelion is a treasured gift when offered by her grinning toddler. Love creates her bias. Some people, seen as plain when first met, become beautiful as we get to know them from the inside out. The agonized parents of an errant child choose to focus on the sweetly remembered person they know is tucked down in there somewhere. The eyes of love probe deep.

It’s akin to how God sees me. I know the yuck I tote around inside, the thoughts that are less than positive, the motives that are less than pure. God peers into the deepest recesses of my being and sees it all, yet opts not to let His eyes linger on my deficiencies. Instead, he zeros in on who I really am—His child, saved by grace. I wear the robes of righteousness He placed on me when Christ became my very own Savior, a covering for my old sinful self. That is God’s chosen focus. (“The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous …” I Peter 3:12.) He sees what I will be when my trip on Earth is done, what I am becoming because of the price Christ paid for me on the cross.

“The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17) The day I first read that verse in my Bible I thought the translators had mistakenly switched the pronouns. “I [Lynn] will rejoice over Him [God]…”is how it should read. But that isn’t what God said. He loves me and rejoices over me—me, a blip on the planet, a saved-though-still-sinning struggler!

He sees me with a father’s eyes. With God-the-Father’s eyes. I’m his kid! His toddler, if you will, offering dandelions and expecting thanks. I love the quip, “If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it.” My picture! That gives me hope on days when I’ve failed. Again. He sees the grayness of my soul as vibrant as the breathtaking hues of a tree on a sun struck autumn day.

And I’m forever grateful.

“For the Lord takes delight in his people; he crowns the humble with salvation. Let the saints rejoice in this honor and sing for joy…” (Psalm 149:4-5)

Lynn Ludwick writes from Shady Cove, Oregon. Lynniegirl45@hotmail.com