The rains have begun, and with the rain
comes mud.
Sticking to shoes,
tracked into the house.
Yes, I've put my garden to bed for the season,
but I still have to deal with dirt.
Some days it seems as though mud is all I can see.
As though I have filth smeared
on the eyes of my heart
and everything is dirty and unclear,
blinding me from seeing God in the muck inside and around me,
from knowing the right path to take,
from believing God's plans are good and right.
And then I read of a man born blind.
And of Jesus, who mixed his own spit with dirt to make
God-infused mud.
He smeared it on the man's eyes,
not at all concerned with the oddness of the act.
How he must have delighted in the blind man's obedience,
the beauty of his spiritual sight
even as he gave him physical sight.
I wonder,
why did he heal the man this way?
Why didn't he just say, 'Be healed.' ?
Was it simply to remind us of our humble beginnings,
that we are but dust, clay and mud?
Or perhaps it was to make us wonder,
to feel a little blind to his purposes
that we might reach out to him in our confusion.
knowing that the sight to come will be all the more magnificent
because of the darkness we go through.
I think of how many times
I don't understand what He's doing,
closing doors that I think should be open,
letting sin have its way,
bringing loss and sadness.
And then I remember how he makes good out of what seems so very bad.
How he can turn disappointment into joy,
pain into peace,
blindness into sight.
How he loves the dirty, messy, muddiness of me
and of you.