New Year. New Word. Come and see.

I have worn glasses since high school and that Human Phys. class where the teacher perplexed me with all of his blurry diagrams on the chalk board. I thought it was just me. Science isn’t really my thing. But, it turns out that being able to see the notes on the board can make science a whole lot easier. In fact, being able to see has a way of making all of life a little easier.

But, I’ve had a battle with these glasses since those days of big hair and pegged jeans. Despite the clarity that they give me, I hate to wear them. And all these years of squinting and memorizing where things should be have taught me much about the art of compensation, but have done little to improve my eye sight.

Once, I even tried to pass an eye test without my glasses. But, the impatient lady behind the DMV desk had glared over her own spectacles at me, “Why don’t you put your glasses on and try that again, miss,” she had barked. I had a baby on my hip and a toddler on my leg. And yes, indeed, I did have glasses buried somewhere in the bag under the diapers and sippy cups. How had she known? But I didn’t need them. I could see just fine. However, to this day the back of my license declares that I have class B restrictions: corrective lens required.

 But here’s the thing. I don’t need them badly enough. Unlike my husband who can’t see anything without his, I don’t crash into things if they aren’t on my face from the minute I open my eyes. I can see ok without mine. Ok enough to think I’ve got it. Ok enough to drive these roads I have driven all of my life and make out signs I have been reading since I was a child. I can do it.  I don’t really need the glasses.

So what exactly does my stubborn refusal to wear my glasses have to do with my word for the year? A lot, actually. For all of these years since the doctor handed me my prescription, only one thing still makes me automatically reach for my specs.

Put me in the drivers seat at night and send me out onto roads I don’t know. New places. Darkness. Unfamiliar territory. And then, I can’t shove those glasses onto my nose quickly enough. 

Only then do I become so aware of my own inability to see; so aware of my need.

God seems to know this. And 2017 is rolling in with a lot of unfamiliar places looming out in front of me. As I have prayed and tried to peak at the road up ahead, God has shown me a word that has pushed hard against my own inability. SEE. That’s the word he has laid on my heart. SEE.

I have tried to register a complaint about this word. But he’s not having it. SEE is the word we are going with for 2017. And this verse which he has put in front of me about 100 times this past week.

“See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:19).

No, Lord, I have tried to protest. I cannot see. I cannot perceive. I have no idea at all what you are doing. No idea. It is blurry and unclear. Which way should I go? How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to see?

Yesterday as I was driving these familiar roads with a car full of loud kids, I reluctantly reached for my glasses, and I felt him answer my questions.

You’re not. You’re not supposed to see how to do it. I AM.

I read the verse again. ” See, I AM doing a new thing… I AM making a way in the desert…” It doesn’t say a whole lot about me.

The one doing the new thing? The one making the way and changing the landscape? That’s God, not me.

My job isn’t to make a new way or produce some water where there isn’t any. My job is to be needy, to come thirsty, to know that I am blind on my own. My job isn’t to see the answer as much as it is to see The One who holds all of the answers.

“Come… and  you will see” (John 1:39). That’s how the Apostle John gives his account of Jesus’ calling of the disciples on the shore of Galilee. Jesus beckoned those fisherman. And they followed him. They had no idea where he was leading them or what their ministry was going to look like. No idea. All they saw was him. Jesus. And they followed.

Quit trying to figure out all of the answers, God whispers as I turn the glasses over in my hand. Be okay with not knowing how it’s going to go. Be ok with just seeing me.

So, maybe your year is laid out nice and neat and orderly in your planner. Maybe your goals are clearly articulated, you have the perfect word and a course to follow. Or maybe you’re spun in circles with no words and no idea which way is up. They are both ok.  I am learning that God knows our places. He knows, and he speaks right into them.

As the calendar flips its pages, God seems to be saying (although not in an irritated DMV lady’s voice) Why don’t we try that again and this time put on your glasses? This time? Need me. This time? Don’t try to be so self-sufficient. This time? Realize that you have limited vision and it’s ok.

I can’t see. I need Jesus. That’s what this year is about. “He must increase but I must decrease” (John 3:30). It’s about not seeing what lies ahead. And knowing that’s okay. He can. I just need to see Jesus .

Except when I’m driving and then, yeah … I’ll wear my glasses.

“See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:19).