Once Was Blind

Once was blind, but now I see

How hard it is, not to see

How hard it is, to hear

To truly hear

To listen

To truly listen

Open up my eyes, show me I’m alive


There’s more –

Open up my mind

To realise

That all are blind

None see

There is an unseen

The deaf know

The blind know

Faith is not confined to sight

Faith is not what I see

Faith is not about me

Faith goes beyond

Faith is what I can’t fathom

Faith is what I can’t grasp

Faith is what I don’t see

Faith is what I believe

Faith goes beyond

Past the mind

To the heart

The life’s song

An echoing drum

Of eternity




Faith was about keeping face

Following law




Faith had a face

A way

A truth

A life

f r a m e d

By grace

through Faith

s a v e d

for Faith

Christ came

for Freedom

Christ set us free

Sensory Scenes

What spurred today’s reflection? There was a lady at church the other week.

She was blind.

She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want questions. She wanted to listen, intently.

It was hard.

I tried to speak, beyond the seen. To discuss the sensory; the heard, the taste, the felt. I tried to paint a picture from what she would know. Not to rely on the seen, but to use words to describe the unseen.

It made me realise how much we assume. When we speak,  we assume that others see. Not only do we assume that others physically see, but we assume they see how we see. Even when we can physically see, our perspective can blind us from another’s reality.

Not one perceives as we. Not one receives as we. All are unique.

Ah! the dualities, the complexities, In a conversation held for more than five minutes in length, I challenge you not to reference or describe anything relating to sight. Try not to discriminate against the senses, but differentiate your focus.

Consider how much you rely on the seen. Ponder what lies deep.

I think back to that time when I walked on the beach, eyes closed, moving along with the sensory outside the seen. I relied on the sand under my feet, feeling the surface, tracing my steps, avoiding any rocky edge. I relied on the wind whipping me, my hair wrapped around, my body wobbling, a force to weigh up. I relied on the waves, the gushing and rushing of their energy, the sound of the whooshing, the echo in the eardrum detecting the nearness of the waters.

As I surrendered my reliance on sight, I was able to tune in more to my surrounds.
In that moment, I was not afraid, not unsure. Instead, I had to trust all the more.
To slow, to listen to the silence of sight that is the voice of life.

May we all stop to slow, to recognise how blindness creeps in, and how the Word is alive, inside, and not found through the eyes.

Respond from the Heart