I really don’t like this chair. This chair ticks me off. This chair let me down. I walk by this chair at least two times a day when I am at work. I could park somewhere else, but I don’t want to. I want to see this chair. I want to say thanks for nothing.
Not too long ago my knees hit the floor in front of this chair, my head went into my hands, and my arms collapsed into it’s seat. I cried out to God to let my brother make it. To get him to a cath lab. Get him there in critical condition, hanging by a thread, just get him there. It could be touch and go, a long rehab, just get him there. But God didn’t listen. Or worse, He listened and said no.
Recently, I watched an interview of an athlete on a college sports team. Eyes up she said. Eyes up was their motto. Eyes on Jesus.
Eyes up can be hard. It can be gritty. Eyes up takes a lot of faith. Just ask Jesus. When he was in the garden the night before his crucifixion crying out to his Father, knees on the ground, head in his hands, Jesus sweated blood. That is intense. Eyes up doesn’t always come easy.
I know I have only two choices. Eyes on me; on my story. Or eyes up; eyes on the story of Jesus. Eyes on my story leaves me continually sad with no way out. Eyes up leaves me less sad and with more genuine joy. Most importantly, eyes up makes a way of escape!
I’m gonna keep parking where I park. And I’m gonna keep walking by that chair. I reckon I’ll always remember the gall of that day, the bitterness of my story. But I will also call to mind my choice. Eyes up. Eyes on the story of the great love of Jesus. The greatest story that’s ever been told. And I’ll whisper thanks for everything.