Sitting on a hard pew, sliding around on the polished wooden planks because of my polyester dress and winter tights, shivering from the cold air, I look forward and blink. I am listening to the scriptures passively at first, gliding thoughtlessly through our Sunday morning routine with little effort.
Until the speaker's eyes change. His brow furrows and his voice follows suit, revealing light that is about to break through. And then it does.
Long wrestled questions are calmly and brightly put to bed in my heart with a great, silent swoop.
"For we have not followed cunningly devised fables,
when we made known unto you
the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,
but were eyewitnesses of his majesty."
~II Peter 1:16
I have myself been an eyewitness to the physical healing of my own children and in this moment am recharged to believe again in the promise of new miracles.
How could I have grown so comfortable in my lack of vision?