Hawaiian Eyes

I woke up today to the sight of a bare brown cornfield beyond my window and sullen gray sky. And I prayed, “Give me Hawaii eyes today, Lord.”

It’s hard to believe that just one week ago I woke to a rose-pink sunrise over the turquoise waters of the Pacific Ocean and to the melodic songs of bright yellow birds perched on my ocean-front balcony. Our trip to Hawaii was a gift beyond description. We woke every morning with a deep sense of gratitude and awe, not just for the beauty outside our window but for the rare opportunity to refresh our souls as well as our bodies. (Our gratitude was only amplified when we learned that all five kids and all four grandparents who were juggling the Bruxvoort home front spent the week battling the stomach flu. Of all the weeks for these two tired parents to fly the coupe!)

There was something about being in Hawaii that enhanced my vision. It may have been the bright sunshine or the diet of exotic fruit, but I have a feeling it had less to do with the island state I inhabited and more to do with the pace I adopted in that tropical paradise. Stepping away from my daily routine, enabled me to look at my life more clearly, like trading the murky silt-stained waters of our local lake for the crystal clear waters of Hawaii. When I wasn’t standing in the midst of my own daily chaos, I could see the chaos more clearly for what it is- rich and abundant, full of hope and promise.

As Rob and I completed every sentence and slept until dawn and sat beneath quiet yellow umbrellas on the soft sand beach, we savored the commodity of couple hood. But unexpectedly, we also found ourselves thanking God continually for the bulging gift we had left behind; for the privilege of parenthood wrapped in shimmers of noise and laughter, stretch and strain, prayer and pleading. As we delighted in brightly feathered creatures in the palm trees, we marveled at our Maker who not only speaks into existence birds of all shapes and sizes, but also knits lives together with purpose and passion.

We realized how quickly the wonder of life gets buried beneath to-do-lists and chore charts, on-call schedules and writing deadlines. And we prayed that we would return home with Hawaii eyes so that even in our daily routines we could see the forest for all the trees, or more in Hawaiian lingo, see the shoreline for all the sand.

While we filled up on fresh ocean sea food and candlelight conversations, we marveled at the fullness that we call family. Then we agreed that if we could have just one of the two gifts- the calm waters of our two-some Hawaii world or the raging waves of our Midwest family of seven- we would unarguably choose the latter. We would trade silent sunsets and barefoot beach wandering for our tidal wave of daily demands in a heartbeat. Because in that tidal wave- in the cacophony of cries and choruses of complaints, in the whitecaps of sleep deprivation and interrupted sentences, there is an indescribable beauty and abundant life. What I’m learning about Hawaii eyes is that they work just as well in the cornfield flanked town I call home. I simply need to choose to see.

In the words of Shauna Niequiest, author of Cold Tangerines :

“Normal, daily life ticking by on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our beds and at our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and secrets– this pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever experience.

I believe that this way of living, this focus on the present, the daily, the tangible, this intense concentration not on the news headlines but on the flowers growing in your on garden, the children growing in your own home, this way of living has the potential to open up the heavens, to yield a glittering handful of diamonds where a second ago there was coal. This way of living and noticing and building and crafting can crack through the movie sets and soundtracks that keep us waiting for our own life stories to begin, and set us free to observe the lives we have been creating all along without even realizing it.

I don’t want to wait anymore. I choose to believe that there is nothing more sacred or profound than this day. I choose to believe that there may be a thousand big moments embedded in this day, waiting to be discovered like tiny shards of gold….The life you’ve been waiting for is happening all around you. The scene unfolding right outside your window is worth more than the most beautiful painting, and the crackers and peanut butter that you’re having for lunch on that coffee table are as profound, in their own way, as the Last Supper. This is it. This is life in all its glory, swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non–events…

Your life, right now, today is exploding with energy and power and detail and dimension, better than the best movie you have ever seen. You and your family and friends and your house and your dinner table and your garage have all the making of a life of epic proportions, a story for the ages. Because they all are. Every life is. … “

I’m headed to the window to take another peek. The sky is still gray, but today’s shockingly cold wind has turned the golden Autumn leaves into marionettes, dancing, swirling, flying across the yard in a hallelujah chorus. My six-year-old stood in the doorway this morning and hollered, “I love you Mommy,” and as I write, my preschooler is pulling his baby sister onto his lap as he murmurs, “You’re my best Maggie. You’re my best Maggie.” According to my Hawaii eyes, that gray sky that has settled over my housetop this morning is merely a backdrop for a brilliant portrait of blessings.

The Overflow: Surely you have granted him eternal blessings and made him glad with the joy of your presence. Psalm 21:6

Hawaiian Eyes

One Comment

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Are you longing to spend time with God but life keeps getting in the way?

Does your faith feel like a drudgery instead of a delight?