Life Isn't a Postcard

There's a difference between looking at a postcard and looking out a window.

At first glance, neither seems to be changing. Look at the postcard--the river is still, the trees are not moving, the water makes no sound. Look out the window--the wind isn't blowing, the grass isn't moving, there is nothing to watch.

Wait a few minutes and look again, they both look the same.

But then, as you look down at the postcard, something catches your eye--outside the window. A squirrel is winding its way up the trunk of your neighbor's tree. And you notice the wind gently swaying the tulips in your own flower bed. Then the squirrel goes away, and the wind dies down. You wait a few minutes, again, looks the same.

Six months go by. The postcard hasn't changed. Not one bit, except for the corner, which was bent one day as you reached over for your coffee. Ah, but the window! What was green has become brown, with white accents. The warmth and life of Spring has turned into the chill of fall. The death of winter is coming, and you can sense it.

The interesting thing is, you could have looked out your window each day for the last 175 days, and never really noticed a difference between one day and the next. And yet, here you are, looking out at a scene that barely resembles that day back in April.

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Our inclination is to turn life into a postcard. *Click*. We have captured it--a situation, a moment, the memory of an event. Then we hang it on our mental bulletin board, and we stare at it. We evaluate it.

We like it. We don't like it. We agree with it. We wish it hadn't happened.

We try to forget it. We grieve over it. We remember it with joy. We laugh when we look at it. Or we cry. In our brains we want to deal with it and be done with it. Understand it. Conclude. File it away. Pull it out only when we want to.

But a snapshot doesn't reflect the nature of life. It's only a still-life. It's a moment in time that will be impossible to recreate. We were never meant to *click* take that picture anyway. But this is what our brains would have us do. Observe, evaluate, and decide. Reach a conclusion. Find a perspective. Take a position.

And our hearts hate it. Because life is a story.

The trouble is, just like looking out the window for six months, life simply doesn't look like it's moving. Our minds tell us we're just here, in our postcard, enjoying this detail, and wishing that was different. Wishing, agreeing, disagreeing.

But not hoping.

Something tells me if we could suddently relive a day from just six months ago, the little details that have changed from that day to this would be so much more evident to us, and we'd be more inclined to look out our window with anticipation. Wondering, what will happen next? Instead of thinking, "I wish this was different."

Life is a story. Each day brings tiny little unnoticeable changes. This thing is going somewhere.

Wonder, my friends. Wonder.

Not knowing is the true foundation of faith.

Blinded by Sight

"The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (I Sam. 16)

Shouldn't we desire to see what He sees? Is it even possible? If not, why would Jesus tease us with this?--

"But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear. For I tell you the truth, many prophets and righteous men longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it."

An important part of seeing is becoming aware of the blindness that is the result of our natural sight.

That's what this blog is about.

Metaphors of Mark

Here are the ways Jesus spoke of the kingdom, as recorded by Mark.

"Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men."

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"It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."

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"How can the guests of the bridegroom fast while he is with them? They cannot, so long as they have him with them. But the time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, and on that day they will fast."

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"No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the new piece will pull away from the old, making the tear worse. And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, he pours new wine into new wineskins."

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If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand. And if Satan opposes himself and is divided, he cannot stand; his end has come. In fact, no one can enter a strong man's house and carry off his possessions unless he first ties up the strong man. Then he can rob his house.

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Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God's will is my brother and sister and mother."

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"Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up."

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"Do you bring in a lamp to put it under a bowl or a bed? Instead, don't you put it on its stand?"

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"With the measure you use, it will be measured to you—and even more."

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"This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come."

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Again he said, "What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground."

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"Be careful," Jesus warned them. "Watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and that of Herod."

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"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?"

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"Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other."

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But Jesus said again, "Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

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"Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all."

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"A man planted a vineyard. He put a wall around it, dug a pit for the winepress and built a watchtower."

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"Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near. Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that it is near, right at the door."

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"Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. It's like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch."

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While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, "Take it; this is my body." Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many," he said to them.

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Then some stood up and gave this false testimony against him: "We heard him say, 'I will destroy this man-made temple and in three days will build another, not made by man.' "

Some Clues from Matthew

Why did Jesus use all the metaphors and parables? Maybe more importantly, why did some get it and others didn't? Read these words of Jesus:

"The knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. This is why I speak to them in parables: Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand. In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah: 'You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people's heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.' But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear. For I tell you the truth, many prophets and righteous men longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it."

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Jesus spoke all these things to the crowd in parables; he did not say anything to them without using a parable. So was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet: "I will open my mouth in parables, I will utter things hidden since the creation of the world."

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"Have you understood all these things?" Jesus asked. "Yes," they replied. He said to them, "Therefore every teacher of the law who has been instructed about the kingdom of heaven is like the owner of a house who brings out of his storeroom new treasures as well as old."

The Way Jesus Talked

The other night it occurred to me that Jesus used a ton of metaphors. So I started reading in Matthew, with my handy red-letter edition NIV bible on my iPaq (I use PocketBible from Laridian Publishing). Starting in Matthew 4, here is how He described things:

"Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men."

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"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness."

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"You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men."

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"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. either do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."

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"The eye is the lamp of the body."

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"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"

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"Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces."

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"Knock and the door will be opened to you."

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"Enter through the narrow gate."

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"Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves."

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"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."

Words I Like

I've heard a lot of words in my life. Recently some of them have begun to take on a whole new meaning.

Embrace. You can embrace so many things in your life. It's a different way to approach things than I have ever considered. Rather than evaluate or discuss or consider, I embrace. Embrace my role, embrace sorrow, embrace life. Embrace God.

Invite. What a way to recognize God's role in your story. Invite Him in, very simple. Invite Him to do whatever He chooses. You know how you feel when you're invited into someone's world?

Improvise. This is a new one, but it's a great way to describe the way I live each day. What am I gonna do today? Improvise. Rock and roll. Knock myself out. Slide into home bruised and bloody. Improvise.

There will be more, but these are three I've been warming up to the last few months.

The Enemies of Story

Life is a story. The events that happen around us are connected, and God is inviting us to get caught up in it. If that's true, then it's worth considering who are the enemies? Why don't we feel engaged in our own story? Why is there no suspense, no intrigue, no mystery, no unveilings? I want to tell about three enemies that come from within. I'm sure there are others.

The first enemy is rationale. Our minds will drive us toward understanding an event. That is, something happens in our life, and we completely understand the what. A friend dies. We lose our job. I fight with my long time friend. This much is easy. But our hearts and minds want to know why. Why did it happen? This is one of the ways we are different from animals--you've never heard an animal wonder why. It is a legitimate, God-given desire to understand why. But our minds convince us to grab the fallen timbers of the event and nail together a poor little hut, a shelter from the storm.

God never promised He would explain why to us. Seems to me it's pretty important that we don't understand why. If we knew the reasons, the plot, the story line, well, we just might try to pick up a pen and rewrite the story. No, faith gives substance to things we hope for, and convinces us of the things we can't see. If we knew why, there would be no need for this hoping. There would be no opportunity to act without knowing exactly why.

The second enemy is our tendency to want to be right. Consider our response when someone is about to make a decision. "I think you should..." Think deeply about the steps you take before you act. Are they not carefully thought out? Don't you want to do the right thing? Weigh the pros and cons, the wisdom, the benefits? Don't you want to be seen as having done the right thing?

My friend Steve Coan and I have been talking recently about the difference between doing what's right and doing good. Jesus was continually doing what people perceived to be the wrong thing. Stayed behind in Jerusalem by himself. Broke the Sabbath. Said the wrong things. Irritated people. Offended people. Hung out with the rabble of society. Defended prostitutes. But he still went about doing good.

There is a world of difference between doing what's right and simply doing good. And it's worth not doing anything for a time in order to sort this one out.

The third enemy is routine. Perhaps the most sinister of all, routine denies the existence of story in our lives. Routine says, I know what I will do today, and tomorrow, and next week. I know that if certain things change, this is how I will respond. I will drive risk out of my life. I will be efficient and punctual. I will perform. People will know what to expect from me, and I will know what to expect from life.

Story lines are never ever full of routine. What a boring book it would be if each new chapter read the same as the one before. You life is going somewhere, and you might have to turn onto a different street tomorrow, or today, or right this minute. What will you do? If you are slave to routine, you will resist. And in resisting, you will be refusing to play your part, both in your own story and likely in someone else's.

I will add more to this thread, as I am seeing more and more enemies the longer I live within my own story.

Message from the King

Two servants were sent on a journey to a distant city to deliver an important message from the king. The message had been written on a great, heavy scroll, was sealed with the king's signet, and was sewn inside a simple cloth sack. It was a heavy scroll, and the one carrying the great burden could scarcely walk a mile before it grew too heavy, and he had to give it to the other to carry for a time. So on they journeyed, carrying the heavy scroll.

Their journey took them along a road that wound through a deep, dark wood. As it came to be evening, some of the darkness from the wood stole into their hearts, and they became afraid. As long as they stayed on the road, they felt some measure of comfort, for they could still look up and see the light in the sky.

But as night fell, and the sky grew dark, they desired to build a fire, for the light that it might produce. They found an open place near the road, and, pulling out their flint-stone, set out to look for wood to burn.

But there was no wood to be found lying along the road. They realized that one of them must venture into the darkness to bring back something that might be burned. They looked at each other, both with fear growing inside them, knowing that one must enter the wood.

"Well," one began, "we might enter the wood together, and thus keep each other safe while we search."

"But I think it would be best,” said the other, "if only one of us entered the wood, so that if there should be any danger, the other might escape away safe and deliver the message." The other servant agreed, for they were both loyal to the king.

But alas, which would enter the wood, and which would remain on the road with the scroll? This they discussed until it was very nearly completely dark all around them, and they could not see any light in the sky except what they could imagine in their own minds. And it was a dark night indeed, for there were no stars in the sky, and the moon was in its darkest phase, and was hidden. So dark was the darkness, that they could not even see each other as they talked.
After a time, they stopped talking altogether, and both sat in silence.

The servant with the scroll thought it was very sorry that they had waited so long to gather wood, but he began to imagine passing the night without fire. He thought, "I will sit tightly on this scroll all the night long in the darkness. If we both sit very still, perhaps the danger in the woods will not come near us. And the king will be pleased with our courage."

The other servant, without the scroll, peered into the darkness, his eyes wide. He began to wonder whether his eyes were open or closed. But it was so dark, that the only way he could tell was to reach his hand to his face and feel whether his eye-lids were up or down. "It is just as dark," he reasoned. "whether my eyes are open or closed. Thus, what does it matter whether I am sitting here, or wandering looking for wood? It will be dark either way. Ah, but then, I might get lost if I go wandering." So he set his mind to determining how he might, without the use of his eyes, go and get some firewood, and get safely back again.

"Ah, simple!" he thought out loud, startling the other servant. "I can follow the sound of your voice, and you can lead me back to this spot again!"

"I do not understand you," whispered the servant with the scroll.

"As I see things," he said, smiling to himself at the irony of his words, "it is dark as death whether I sit here, or whether I go out to find something to burn. I would do well to crawl away from here into the woods, and bring back whatever I can find for our fire."
"But how will you know the way?" replied the other.

"I do not need know the way, for I do not know what is out there. But I will know the way back, if only you will answer when I call back to you."

"I will," said the other.

So the servant set out in a certain direction into the woods, crawling slowly, patting the ground with his hands, searching for pieces of wood. As he went along, he was careful to stop every now and again, and call back to his companion, who would respond with a "Hello!" But as he went, all his hands felt was dirt, and occasionally some small growing plants, but no wood on the ground. Finally, he crawled back to where his friend was sitting.

"Let me take the flint-stone with me, for at least that way I can have a moment of light, though small, when the spark flies. And in that way, I might see if there is anything to be had that is very near to me."

The servant sitting on the scroll felt no little discomfort in giving the other servant the flint-stone. For it was the only thing that could produce fire, and if anything should befall the other servant while he was out searching, there would be nothing left but to sit in the darkness all night long. "Ah, but I have resolved myself to that fate anyway," he thought, so he handed the flint-stone to the one going into the woods.

So the wood-seeker crawled away in another direction, striking the flint-stone many times as he went. He found that every third spark was exceedingly bright, and produced the greatest area of light. This puzzled him, but even so, he began to strike it in a quick three-strike pattern, so as to produce that bright spark as often as possible. He found that the harder he struck the stone the third time, the brighter the third spark was.

And so he continued along, but with no success at finding wood. Alas, so great was his focus was on the flint-stone and the third spark, that he forgot to call out to his companion, and ventured far into the woods, beyond the hearing of his companion. So far, that the servant on the road could not even hear the sound of the flint-stone any longer, and fell fast asleep. So far, that even if he had shouted, he would not have woken his companion. But still he did not find anything for a fire.

At last his head struck the side of something. He reached out his hands and felt the side of a tree. He sat back, and began to examine the tree, first with his hands, then by the light of the flint-stone. It was smooth, with no jagged bark. “Perhaps this tree will have some small branches that I can break off and take back.” So he crawled toward what he thought used to be the top of the tree, but he soon found that the tree did not have any small branches. Each of the main branches seemed to be broken close to the trunk, so that nothing at all could be broken off.

He crawled toward the other end of the tree, where the roots had once been. Indeed, the trunk of the tree was exceedingly large at the base, so large that his little flint-spark did not even light up to the top edge of it. So large, he thought, that it must be wider than the height of a man.

Reaching the other end, he discovered that the giant tree had been sawn down. He crawled around to the end, and struck the flint-stone in his three-strike pattern, and in such a way found that the tree was hollow, and very dark inside. So dark that the spark did not illuminate the hollowed out part. The hollow seemed to swallow up whatever light it produced.

He sparked some more, and suddenly a little flame came up from inside the tree. It was only a little flame, but it startled the servant and illuminated the entire hollow of the tree. He looked into the flame to see what it was that was burning, but he could not see anything producing the flame. But surely, it was a flame indeed, and it continued to burn.

The servant sat looking at the tiny flame for a time...

The Jungle and the Great Plain

There was a village in a jungle. So dark was this jungle that they kept the fires burning all day and all night, so that they could see where they were going. One day one of the tribesman took a walk. During his walk, he took all the familiar trails, for the jungle was so dark that the only safe trails were the familiar ones. He walked and walked, so long and so deep that he felt he had walked every trail known to his people. He felt good about knowing every trail. But upon coming around the last bend of the last trail, he realized he had never actually gone anywhere. He had only walked familiar paths.

So he determined to set off through the jungle without using any trails. He grabbed a torch from the fire and set out. The way was difficult, with many vines and pits to avoid. It seemed to him that the jungle itself was set against him, and he wondered why. But his torch kept burning and burning, and this made him all the more resolved to cut through and go somewhere. He did not even know where, just somewhere.

By and by he arrived at a deep, uncrossable ravine. A great light streamed down into the ravine, so brightly that he had to hide his eyes. Finally his eyes could make out a great plain on the other side, bathed in light. He climbed a tree, and from this vantage point thought he could make out some moving shapes far in the distance, but couldn't tell what they were. So he decided to walk beside the great chasm to see if at some point the jungle and the plain would meet and he could cross over into the light. So he set off, gazing across the ravine whenever he could. Yet on the jungle side of the ravine, he was completely in the shadows, and had to keep his torch in front of him every step.

After walking many days, he noticed that the ravine began to widen. This discouraged him, for he could not see the other side as well as before, and he was tempted to go back so he could at least see the other side again. But just as he was about to turn back, he came to a bridge. This bridge hung very low into the ravine, and was made with great jungle vines and some sticks. The bridge was so long that he could not see the other end. He could only see as far as the lowest point of the bridge. Such was the great distance now between the jungle and the plain.

He could see that the bridge was in disrepair, and clearly had not been crossed for some time by anyone. He noticed there were no trails leading to it from this side of the jungle. But he knew this was the way to the great plain, and the vines seemed strong, so he put down his torch, stepped into the light, and started across. Slowly at first, but then as his eyes adjusted to the light, and as he got used to the swinging of the bridge, he was able to walk more quickly. After many days of making his way across the bridge, he at last reached the other side. And the first vision of the plain was glorious.

He found foods growing that he had never tasted. With the first bite he felt his strength renewed. Immediately he thought of his fellow tribesman, and after sleeping for a while on the plain, he set out to cross back over the bridge. And upon arriving back on the jungle side, he picked up his torch (it was still burning!) and made his way back to the village the same way he had come.

When he reached his village, he started calling to the villagers. "Come and see the great bridge that I have found! It leads to a Great Plain where there is food -- and LIGHT! We don’t have to live here anymore! Come with me!" But the villagers didn’t listen, and so he called the more loudly. Still they did not listen. And he stayed there many days trying to convince his people that the Great Plain was glorious and that the bridge was safe...

The Wax Crayon

There once was a man who had a drawing room with a window that looked out upon a beautiful view. It was a large window, wider than the man's outstretched arms. So glorious was the view out of this window, that he decided it would be a wonderful thing to share the beauty with others. So he called in his friends, and said, "Look out this window! Have you ever seen such beauty?"

Imagine his surprise when one friend said, "This window should be washed, for I can hardly see out of it!"

And another said, "I see you have a broken branch on that tree. What a shame! I can see it was a beautiful tree, once upon a time."

And yet another, "The squirrels have gotten into your bird-feeder again. Will you starve the birds this winter?"

The man was disappointed, of course, for he had expected the friends to simply stand back and enjoy the view out his window. For he himself had enjoyed many hours looking out this window, gazing at sunsets, marveling at the snowfall, watching with delight as the squirrels stole the seeds from his bird-feeder.

Such was his great pleasure, that he determined in his heart to help his friends enjoy the beauty of this window view. So he devised a plan. First he washed the window inside and out, until not a spot could be seen on it. It was so clean, one could hardly tell there was glass in the window.

Then he selected one of his most comfortable and grand arm-chairs, and affixed it a few feet from the window, such that when one sat in the chair, the window perfectly framed what he thought to be the most beautiful view. He sat in the chair, and gazed out at the view.

"But, I have not done enough to help my friends enjoy this view!"

So he went and found a wax crayon, and proceeded to draw lines, arrows, and labels in an array on the inside of the window, such that when seated on the chair, the markings of the crayon created a sort of diagram. This diagram pointed out each detail that he found to be beautiful, and in some places, provided explanation for what was to be seen. The broken limb, for example, was the result of a tremendous flash of lightning that he himself had witnessed during a storm.

Then he invited his friends to see the window again. Each one took a turn sitting in the chair. And each one sat silently for a few minutes. Then as they began to remark about some detail they looked upon, he went to the window and drew with his wax crayon another line, or label, or explanation, so that the next window-gazer would know what they were looking at, and hence would enjoy the beauty of the window view.

The friends actually enjoyed this, as seeing the diagram helped them understand the man's delight in the view. They enjoyed it so much that they returned in a week's time to do it again, and the week after that, and for many weeks after that. Each week, each one would take their turn sitting in the chair in just the right position, and would comment upon what they saw. And the man, with his wax crayon, would write upon the window the explanation.

This went on for some time, until the window was nearly filled with diagrams. And the man was very happy that his friends now shared in the beauty of the view from the great window.

One day, the man's young niece came for a visit. In the morning she came down the stairs to greet her uncle. "Oh Uncle, the view from my bedroom window is so glorious!" she said. He smiled at her delight, and thought to himself, here's a child after my own heart. She will certainly love the view from the great window!

"Ah, my dear niece," he said, "If you like the view from your bedroom, then I have a great surprise for you! Come to the drawing room. I want you to see something glorious! Some friends and I have been at work for several weeks now, and I want to share it with you! Close your eyes, and I will lead you to the place."

She smiled, took his hand, and closed her eyes. He led her into the drawing room, and sat her down upon the big chair, and turned himself toward the great window covered with markings. She giggled with excitement, and put her hands over her eyes so she wouldn't be tempted to peek.

"I must do one more thing, before you open your eyes." And he went to get the wax crayon. My niece will certainly have questions, so I will write upon the window for her, he thought. And he smiled at the thought of her having a hand in the wax crayon markings.

"There, we are ready. Open your eyes!"

She opened her eyes, looked at her uncle, and looked at the window. After a few moments, she asked, "Where is the surprise?"

"Why, the great window!" he said, astonished. "Just take a look!" and he made a grand gesture with his arm toward the window, covered with wax crayon markings.

"What does it mean?" the girl asked, with the innocence of her five-year old heart.

"What does it mean?" he asked out loud, his voice rising. And he began to feel the way he did after his friends had first come for a visit. "What does it mean? Just look upon the scene, and the words on the window will help you understand the beauty of the scene." He walked to her and said, "Here, sit just so." And he propped her up in the chair.

He knelt down and looked out the window from her angle of view, and immediately realized that she was too small for the chair, and that the diagram would not line up with the scenery. "Ah, I see! You're too small!"

The girl looked up at him with a puzzled look. "Too small?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Ah, I have it. Let me get some books for you to sit upon."

"Uncle, even if I sit up higher, I shan't be able to see out the window, for all the markings!" she said, as he went to the bookshelf.

"Patience, my child," he said impatiently, "in a few moments you will behold all the beauty of this glorious view!"

He returned with several large books, and, judging from her size and the position of her head, he determined that she needed three large books to raise her up to the proper height for viewing. "There, that should help," he said.

So seated on the books, she once again looked at the window. "But Uncle, I still can't see properly out the window!"

"Can't see out the window?" He was exasperated. "Why, it's a glorious sight! Just look at the markings, read the labels! It's clear as the nose on my face! See how those words and the arrow line up with that tree? See the bird-feeder?"

"I don't understand," she said, meekly.

He strode back to the window, and began tracing the outline of the words with his finger. "We have worked on this window for weeks and weeks! Everything is perfect! Every question has been answered! There is hardly room for more!" As he spoke, his voice grew louder, and his gestures grew frantic. "The beauty is obvious! Surely you see it now?" He threw up his arms at this final word, and turned to look at the girl.

Her eyes were filled with tears. She spoke quietly. "But Uncle--I cannot read. So I cannot see the beauty." And she began to cry.

The man looked at the little girl, sitting high on the books, sobbing. He looked at the wax crayon markings. She cannot read? She cannot read? If she cannot read, how then can she behold the beauty? He was silent for some time. He closed his eyes to think on this. Shall I draw pictures on the window for the girl? How absurd, he thought. I would have to erase some of the words.

The wax crayon dropped from his hand. He stooped to pick it up.

"Uncle!" whispered his niece. "Look!" She sniffled, and meekly pointed at the window.

He had stopped in a crouching position, his face very close to the bottom of the window. Right before him was one small area, about the size of the girl's hand, where there were as yet no wax crayon markings. Through the window he saw a finch, sitting on the ledge. The bird's head was turned away, and it did not notice the man, only a few inches away, on the other side of the window. The finch was sunning himself, feathers slightly ruffled for warmth. And he seemed to be enjoying the beautiful view.

Why, I've never been this close to a bird before, the man thought. I would have never seen this bird, except for this small area where there has been no writing.

The man froze. If he moved again he might startle the bird. He desperately wanted to pick up the wax crayon and capture this moment for his friends, but his hand was frozen a few inches above the crayon.

"Isn't he beautiful?" the girl whispered again. "He was outside my window this morning when I woke up!"

The man watched the bird for a few more moments, when just then another finch landed on the ledge, and in an instant they both took flight. The man quickly stood to his feet to see where they had flown off to, and without thinking, he reached out his hand and wiped away some of the wax markings with the sleeve of his robe. Through this little opening, he watched the birds fly away.

"It was a good idea of yours, Uncle, to leave that little spot open there at the bottom where I could see the finch. Even though I cannot read, I was still able to see the finch."

Suddenly, her face brightened. "Oh, Uncle, I just realized--one day, when I am finally able to read, I will be able to see all the beauty that you can see!"

"My dear niece, I am the one who needed to be taught to see. And you have done just that." And with his sleeve, he began to wipe all the wax markings from the great window. His niece watched as he went from top to bottom, wiping the window clean with great care until it was so clear, one could hardly tell there was glass in the window.

He walked to the other side of the room, picked up a chair, and set it beside the great arm-chair where his niece was still sitting. She smiled up at him.

He smiled back at her. "Now, tell me what else you see."

And together they enjoyed the beautiful view from the great window.