From there, everything looks different. The world seems farther away, and somehow smaller, or at least less important. Our own pride and ambitions don't seem to mean as much when we're not running around pursuing them.
In the quiet solitude of prayer, you hear what was before blocked out by the clamor and chaos. You understand puzzles before unsolvable. What was unseen becomes visible.
A change in perspective changes everything.
To see clearly, you have to close your eyes.
Not necessarily literally, although that does help me. Figuratively, though, we must close our eyes to the world if we want to truly see. We must block out the distractions and focus on what remains. It is only then that we can perceive, that we can winnow the wheat from the chaff.
With eyes closed to that which pulls us away, we are drawn to what is important. No longer distracted by fleeting shadows of concern, desire, pride, and the myriad other diversions, our eyes are really opened.
Now we can see.
The needs of the people around us appear. The fullness of our own forgiveness, and the need to forgive, becomes apparent. The importance of faith, family and friends comes to the forefront. We can cherish the gift of life, the prospect of life ever-lasting, and the fleeting time we have in between.
From our lowly position, the cross is formidable, but not forbidding. A fortress, not a prison. Our Father, never seen but rather felt and heard, intimately close. We can sense His presence, His care, His love. Perhaps even His discipline, His rebuke, His guidance. But always in love.
Now we see. As clearly as we can, we see priority and a path to follow. From here the narrow gate stands out, away from the crowds. By lowering ourselves, we have risen above the noise, the clutter, the obfuscating illusions of the world.
What really matters?
Get on your knees, close your eyes, and find out for yourself. You might be surprised by what you see.
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