HOME

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Crown Of Splendor
Down Memory Lane
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Take it to Heart
Through Their Eyes
Ripe For The Harvest
The Rhythm of Life
We Are the Church
Well Read


Send this Page
To a friend!

ARCHIVES

HeavenThrough Godís Eyes
By Karen Treharne

"Hi Mom. Iím home."

"Hi sweetheart. Donít slam the do---or, please."

Too late. Toby was in a hurry as usual. Third grade was so exciting that he could barely wait to tell Sandy the dayís news.

"Slow down, young man. Whatís the rush?"

Sandy squeezed him tight and kissed his damp forehead, enjoying the warmth of his arms and smell of outdoors clinging to his skin like baby powder.

"Gee, Mom, donít squeeze me so tight. I might break."

She laughed at his words and loosened her grip, inwardly rejoicing at his freckled-face grin and the gleam in his sky-blue eyes.

"All right. You win. Letís sit a while and talk before I have to start dinner. Tell me everything that happened today."

Toby needed no encouragement. Cupcakes and juice for Brandonís birthday. "Heís nine." Mr. Jamison, the janitor, coming to class to talk about his job around the school and ways that the kids could help. "I picked up some garbage on the lunchroom floor!" he said proudly. "And, Sara talked about her vacation to Washington, D.C., and all the things she saw, like the White House and statues and museums."

"Wow. You had a very busy day, didnít you? And you sure learned a lot of things. Iím glad you remember so much, so I can share in the fun, too."

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey."

"When are we going on a vacation and see the sights?"

"Thatís a good question, Toby." Sandy took her sonís jacket and placed a glass of milk beside his plate of grapes and two chocolate chip cookies. Sitting on the stool next to her son, she looked thoughtfully at him before speaking.

"You know, sweetie, there are things in our own neighborhood that we could sightsee. We donít have to go to a "special" place far away from home."

Toby looked up at his Momís tanned face. He had no idea that the crumbs scattered over his lips and chin were the cause of her smile.

"Iíve seen everything in our neighborhood already, Mom. Thereís nothing worth looking at or sharing with my friends at school. Itís just the same old stuff they see in their neighborhood, too."

"Well Ė I suppose youíre right for the most part. But how many of us look at whatís around us through Godís eyes?"

"Through Godís eyes? How is that possible?"

"Itís kind of hard to explain, Toby. What do you say we take a trip around the block Saturday morning, and Iíll try to describe what I mean? Can you wait until then?"

"Sure, Mom. I can wait. But I still donít think thereís going to be much to see Ė even through Godís eyes."

Saturday arrived with a chill in the air, and trees and shrubs were caught in the whisperings of the morning breeze, waking their sleeping leaves. Side-by-side, bundled in their fall jackets, Sandy and her 8-year-old offspring moved with slow tennis shoe steps along the sidewalk.

"Can you feel the angels breathing on your face, Toby? Itís Godís way of letting us know that He is always with us." She looked down at her child as she continued. "Sometimes we take the wind for granted without thinking about what a powerful gift it is. We canít see IT of course, but we can know itís presence when we feel it brush our cheeks and hear it blowing around us. We can see the damage it can do in a storm, too, canít we? Tree limbs broken and scattered on the ground among shingles blown from roof tops and garbage can lids."

"I never thought much about the wind before." Toby said. "Wouldn't it be something if we could actually SEE the wind itself?"

"Oh, look honey. Do you see that bush there by Mrs. Hiltonís front porch? Can you see anything moving?"

Looking intently as they stopped to stare, Toby whispered in wonder, "Yes, Mom. Is that the wind?"

"No. Itís butterflies. Thatís a butterfly bush."

"Wow. Can we get a closer look?"

"Weíll ask Mrs. Hilton if itís okay, first, but Iím sure she wonít mind."

Elderly Mrs. Hilton was happy to have company, and proud to show off her garden. "By all means," she said, "and Iíll fix you both a hot cup of chocolate while you look around."

Toby was mesmerized by the sight of so many fluttering butterflies in one place at the same time. "WowÖwow."

"Isnít this amazing, Toby? God made this flowering bush especially to attract the butterflies. They are drawn to the brightly colored and fragrant blooms. Bees, and sometimes even hummingbirds, also swarm around because of the sweet nectar they get from the flowers."

"Wow."

After sharing a cup of hot cocoa with Mrs. Hilton, they continued their walk skirting the neighborhood park. Around the corner, on the next block, their church came into view.

"Look, Mom. What are those people doing? Whatís going on?"

"Letís find out, shall we?"

Nearing the parking lot, people could be seen loading boxes into the parish van. Upon closer examination, Sandy realized it was food. She spoke to Judith Emerson, a Sunday School teacher who explained the commotion.

"Theyíre getting ready to go downtown to feed the homeless, Toby. They do this the first weekend of every month. See the sandwiches, bananas, water and juice? God wants us to provide help to those in need, and this is one way people can serve."

"Can we help, Mom?"

"Not today, Toby. But, we can talk with Dad and your sister when we get home, and pray for Godís direction on where He would like us to serve. Itís best to try to see things through His eyes, so we are sure that His will is being done. Do you think thatís a good idea?"

"I sure do. Boy, Iím going to have a lot to tell the kids at school on Monday. There ARE so many sights right here in our own neighborhood, and so many things to learn. Especially, when the Father shows us."
Karen is a published freelance writer, eager to serve God by sharing her love for Him through her writing. Her prayer is to always see life through His eyes and love. She lives in Washington State with her husband, Ken. You can write to Karen through the Letters page of this Magazine.