Psalm 69:1-23, 31-38
I’m sure we all can all relate to this psalm. I certainly can.
We feel the water rising to our neck and the torrent washing over us, we’ve been sinking in deep mire with no firm ground to hold onto, and we have grown weary with our own crying; our throats are raw. And, to make matters worse, our eyes have failed from looking for God.
The past few years have been difficult for me: financial troubles; worries about elderly, frail parents; my own health problems. Sometimes it just doesn’t seem to stop: I feel as if I’m treading water in a tsunami.
But lately, I have experienced several grace notes: friends who have helped so much and in so many ways. Total strangers with complete surprises, like the couple who paid for our Christmas dinner last year—five of us—but left before we knew it and could thank them. Blessings popping up unexpectedly—but where were they before?
Oh, they were probably there all the time; my eyes failed from looking for God because I wasn’t looking where I should. We expect miracles to be big bangs, photo ops, but I’ve found that most miracles are either soft “pops” or are quiet and unobtrusive, with no audience but us. Since we aren’t looking or just don’t know where to look, they slip by unrecognized. But they’re there, right before our eyes, if we just focus on the little things, the everyday miracles.
God hears our distress calls. I’m realizing that God hears me better when I speak up rather than handle everything myself. I’ve become bolder in asking God for help—and it usually arrives somehow; if it doesn’t, I ask again, a little more loudly, or a little differently. I’ve started to look for it, expect it, trust that it’s coming. The answer arrives in God’s time, which is not necessarily my time, and I’m learning to accept that (which is difficult for a control freak to do).
When we adjust our focus, our vision becomes clearer, and our eyes don’t fail us so much. We learn where to look. And we find things—the things we need—if we just keep our eyes open for them.