The most predominant prayer for me since being on the race has been “God, be my vision.” Every morning I wake up expectant for the eyes of God to see Him everywhere. I try to notice Him in the soft pink flowers growing on the white-walled buildings. I try to notice Him in the eyes of a laughing child and the grace of an elderly man sitting on the steps of a tiny tienda. I long to see Christ everywhere, because I know He is actually there, and I don’t want to be someone who misses out on the beauty of my Savior just because I’m not being intentional enough to seek it out. Jesus is everywhere folks, He is in the flowers and the strangers and the friendships, we just have to look.
On the last day of ministry my team and I were playing soccer at a beautiful park in San Antonio. A hidden gem among the alcoholism and the abuse that has plagued this small town of Ecuador. We began playing with passion and excitement, we got a little too violent at times and even the mother of the household ran after the ball with laughter in her smile. In the process of this passionate game, the ball came flying towards my face. Before I knew it my glasses were split in half on the grass and my nose was bleeding. I would be lying if I said I started crying because my nose hurt, because in reality I was just mourning the death of my favorite glasses. Ridiculous I know. I’m working on it.
I had a plan that day though. My friend and I were planning on taking a random bus into the city and getting off wherever the Lord told us to, and just go from there to seek out what He had planned for us. I wasn’t really up for that anymore, but The Lord just kept pushing me forward, He kept reminding me of the importance of this plan and the unimportance of my broken glasses. So we went. Basically blind, letting the spirit literally lead us wherever He wanted, we soon found ourselves in Downtown Quito, staring at a mural full of figures that carried so much weight and such an evil presence. Art affects me more than the average human. Painting has been apart of my life since I was seven, and I basically cry at every piece of art I see. But this- this was something different. This was darkness wrapped up in paint, and my heart became so heavy that I just had to keep walking. After praying for some people we kept turning right, left, and straight. Wherever we felt the Lord leading us, we went. We soon found ourselves in an evangelical church watching a skit the portraying a demonic presence possessing a man. I immediately felt the oppression. The room was thick with darkness and there was no sign of Jesus in any of the skit. Though my eyes could not see detail from so far back in the audience, and my ears could not understand the language being spoken, my spirit was familiar with such evil and needed to run. So we ran. Far away from the darkness and out of the oppression. The sun had set and we continued towards the bus stop. On our way back we turned the corner and found ourselves right back to that first mural, the one full of figures symbolically representing sin and enslavement. Words cannot express the heaviness at which my soul was feeling. We had literally made a circle around darkness, praying unknowingly around the presence of evil. We made it home within the hour and prayed with authority and power in the name of Jesus that he would protect us and give us the ability to see Him in through this darkness. But honestly I was feeling hopeless.
The next day we returned to that mural. Although everything in me told me to avoid it, Jesus’ voice was so much louder and could not be ignored. We were back at the painting, crying out to our Savior for peace and for His presence to take over the block we had unknowingly circled in prayer the night before. We spoke truth over the artist who painted it, we spoke power and love and joy over those who pass by it every day, we prayed and Jesus came through. This time around this small corner of darkness tucked away in such a big city, we noticed the flowers. We noticed the children laughing on the corner, we noticed the plants growing off the wall and the beauty of the old cobblestone roads. This time Jesus gave us His eyes to see Him in the midst of the darkness and it was so redeeming.
I find it ironic that the moment my glasses broke, the physical realm disappeared and He called me deeper into the reality of the spiritual realm. I was able to see Him and Satan so much more clearly. My broken glasses allowed me to put on the eyes of Christ and find enough motivation to return the next day despite the fear and uncertainty and unsettling emotions that the enemy so easily attacks with.
Now I have His eyes to see Him, even in the paintings full of hopelessness and the churches deceived by dramatized spirituality where the lack of the goodness of Jesus is more evident than not. So I will continue to pray, even in the pain, even through the fear. I will pray and I will thank the Lord because He answers my desires to see like He sees and He gives us the authority over all of the works of the enemy. We are not bound by darkness, but we walk as children of the light and by choosing to see the light we choose to see Jesus. There is so much truth to be found in seeking out the light.
