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Open your eyes.

        What do you see?

        A roof above your head. The sun streaming through the blinds.

What do you hear?

        Birds calling. A dog snoring.

What do you feel?

        A bed, soft beneath you. Blankets cuddling you.

What do you smell?

        Spring riding on the tendrils of a breeze. Coffee gurgling in the kitchen.

What do you taste?

        The promise of pancakes. The hope of daily bread.

Of these, which is the most precious, the most valued?

        The simple, miraculous fact,

That your eyes opened up in the first place.

 

“The real problem of the Christian life comes where people do not usually look for it.  It comes the very moment you wake up each morning.   All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals.  And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day.  Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind. We can only do it for moments at first. But from those moments the new sort of life will be spreading through our system: because now we are letting Him work at the right part of us. It is the difference between paint, which is merely laid on the surface, and a dye or stain which soaks right through.”  (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Chapter 8, p. 198)

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2 Comments

  1. Thanks, Beck, for Lewis’s wise words but, even more, for your poem. Especially love “spring riding on the tendrils of a breeze.” Prayers for your continued healing.