A sudden realization struck me. Trees have individual leaves. Of course, I knew this, but it wasn’t until my left eye was assisted with a lens as thick as any book I’d ever read, that I really saw them for what they were.
Vivid. Veiny. Vivacious even, and I don’t just say that for the art of alliteration.
I was nearly blinded by the rich hue absorbed for what felt like the first time.
Each leaf flaunted edges and lines unique to itself, yet, together, contributed to the enchantment of this majestic feature of the forest.
It took me 16 years, but I finally observed it as the carefully crafted creative-collective that it was, and I stood amazed.
I pulled the black rims down onto my nose.
Green blob sitting atop a brown stem.
I pushed them back up again with the finger that pointed the tree out to a friend like it was some ground-breaking invention.
Realigned, I reassessed.
The green blob morphed into a web of greens and yellows tangling and twisting towards the sky. The brown stem, marked by age and eroded by the elements, straightened and stiffened, proudly boasting the limbs that lit the colors dancing before my eyes.
The blanket of blue seemed to exist at this moment only to frame the towering timber, and I wished to tuck myself into its comfort.
It’s been a decade since I became 20/20 and felt trapped by the awe I felt in a world that had always been my home. I’ve since stopped wearing corrective lenses because I just didn’t love that my one eyeball appeared at least three times the size as its parter in sight who happened to be much more skillful.
The world is dull again, I suppose, but it’s not to say I really notice.
As I write this, I long for such a moving moment of clarity, to be dazzled by the daily and magnify the mundane. But I think I left that pair of glasses back in America.
The untrained specialist within tells me that surely, in the last ten years void of proper correction, my senses have weakened, demanding a stronger prescription to achieve this level of perspective.
Maybe I’ll visit that office with the walls of limitless lenses and find a few that order my focus. Until then, I’ll have to depend on my more developed senses.
For, certainly, every tree and each leaf that hangs upon, whispers His name.
I’ll close my eyes and peer through this memory when my hearing joins my sight on the downward slope of age or else is drowned out by the louder levels of life.
I reckon this is why He gave me five whole senses. So many ways to soak in His glory and be left in mouth-gaping awe. It is a shame I only have one voice to share it, but I am motivated by magnificence to at least try.
Thanks for letting my share my moment of clarity with you. It’s my prayer that you’ll step outside and sense God today. Or, if you’re bound to your bed, tangled up in toddlers, or pilfering through paperwork, I hope that you will dig up a shard of sharp perspective like I have done today. And do share these experiences with me in the comment section below!
Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse (Romans 1:19-20).
