THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY

Sometimes I wear glasses.  They transform a blur of color and light into shape and detail.  For years they were all I had, and I peeked out at the world through these tiny windows, because without them I was blind.

My husband calls them my owl eyes.  I was an owl for nine years before I was brave enough to try contacts.  I came out from behind my tiny windows, and the world outside came closer.  I had peripheral vision for the first time ever, and everything was clean and shiny.  Rain no longer smudged my view.  I stepped out into a reality that felt bigger. 

I’ll admit that I had forgotten the drama and amazement that came with this shift.  I switch between glasses and contacts so frequently that the difference does not carry the impact that I once experienced.  A reminder came in the form of a bike ride.

It is a beautiful thing to drive in a car – a great time-saver, and excellent when it rains, but the world comes at you in a filtered way.  Sometimes I might forget that what I see outside my window is real.  Nothing seems truly to exist except my point of departure and my destination.  I had recently done a lot of driving when my sisters-in-law asked me to go for a bike ride with them.

And it came back.  The awe and wonder of seeing the other side of a window, of finding how strong and colorful life can be.  Riding a bike is freeing.  I was liberated.  Cool breezes that had been too long in coming were fully appreciated.  Open air that had always been waiting was entirely felt.  The clarity that came when I first escaped my glasses was there again as we biked.

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.