Delivered. (John 9:1-7)

I apologize to anyone who takes the time to read this. It's a primitive description at best. Take everything with a grain of salt. Enjoy the symbolism. I didn't make any of it up. Some of you may want to know more. Feel free to ask. I may or may not be able to answer you. But this is what I've got for now:



I've had an interesting week. Or few weeks. Maybe months. It depends on how far back you're willing to look, I guess.

At the beginning of this semester, I was in a very dark place. It was early January. Depression was sneaking back up on me. I was looking to the wrong things for my confidence. I was confused about life, and relationships, and myself. My heart wasn't on the right track. It was hurting, and I didn't know how to heal it. I didn't even know what was wrong with it.

I don't want to overplay this. Dramatic is the last thing I want to be right now. But it all came to a point one night.

Before a Kaleo chapel on the first or second Wednesday night, I sat in the Prayer chapel alone for a while. I prayed as much as I could. And I wrote.

I'd been listening a lot of Listener around that time (unfamiliar with Listener? Youtube seatbelt hands or wooden heart), so the poem I ended up with was wild, passionate, and appropriate to my thoughts at the time. It explained how I felt, to me, at least, if anyone.

It's closing lines were the easiest to write. This may be because they were the only ones I was so sure of. Ironically enough, that would be because they explained that I wasn't sure of anything. I didn't save the poem, but they went something like:

'Maybe he's blindfolded, maybe he's closing his eyes, or maybe it's actually night. Or maybe he's actually blind, and all he needs is a saint to come spit in the dirt, and rub some Hope into his eyes.'

And that's how it was. I felt so lost I couldn't even sing the songs at Kaleo without feeling this darkness come over me and make my chest heavy. I cried out. Instead of singing, I would be pulled down to my seat, and sit weeping and aching, asking God to deliver me.

The pain didn't even make sense. There was no reason for it. And it seemed to have no origin.

I was afraid of failure. I had been worried about what kind of a man I was going to be. I was worried about what girl I was going to marry. I was worried about where my life was going.

It was all about the future. I wasn't seeing the moment. I felt blind.

My heart was getting cold. I was watching myself get more selfish and less kind, patient, and peaceful. I hated it.

I was calling to God, but He felt so far away. I was asking Him to show me His face. But I felt so blind, I didn't believe I would see Him even if He was at the tip of my nose.



Over the next few weeks, some stuff got straightened out in my life. I've begun to invest more in the healthier relationships I have. I've been putting my heart into people that build me up. It's been something I've been trying to do for a while now.

Not to say this immediately fixed all of my problems, but I did start to see things in a more positive light. I began to get back into the Word. I asked God for the Spirit. I expressed my desire to bear It's Fruit.

God spoke slowly. But He wasn't hard to hear. (As my dear friend Mason has said, "God speaks to me through patterns. Anytime I hear something three times, I think, 'Hey, I need to listen up.'" Rough quote) I heard a lot about giving. I heard a lot about letting go of my comfort and loving people where they were formerly not being appreciated.

I heard a lot of: "Let go of your desires, and take up Mine."

And one night, I had a long talk with my friend Taylor. It was a great conversation, and it made me realize a bunch of things. I solidified a ton of thoughts about what I want in a wife. I also solidified a great deal of knowledge about who I am, and what type of man I am going to be.



After I left that night, I passed a lady on the sidewalk on the way home. She was in red, I think it might have been a peacoat. I didn't pay much attention to that. What caught my eye was the large amounts of luggage she was standing next to. Also red, the luggage seemed a bit out of place. More than one person should carry, even on a long trip. She looked as though she had just gotten off of a plane. She was standing on an Azusa sidewalk at night (not a smart place for a seemingly defenseless woman to be standing). She was standing under a streetlight. It was around midnight, so I couldn't help but notice the old-looking sunglasses she was wearing. She said hello, and I replied with the same. And I wrote the rest of her words of as meaningless. After all, there was a large chance she was just a crazy homeless lady on the street.

The next day, Mason and I sat down to have a talk. He explained how he was speaking to that lady the night before as well, on his way home. He went on about how she spoke to him the words that he most needed to hear at the moment. She had spoken to his heart, and through simple smalltalk, motivated and inspired him in fantastic ways. If you'd like to hear more on that, go ahead and ask him.

His comments about the lady made me think. It crossed my mind that he may have been speaking to an angel. Few humans are ever privileged enough to speak so deeply to each others hearts. Especially via smalltalk.

But if she was an angel, what was it that she had said to me? Had she spoken to my heart, only to find it uninterested? So I fought to remember what she said to me.

It came in one sentence. She'd faced toward the darkness along the sidewalk, where two longboarders were making their way home in the distance. She turned more toward my direction, between her and the streetlight. She had said, "I don't trust the sounds over there, so I stay under the light." I wrote it off. After all, what good is a random statement like that?

But as I thought, it seemed to linger; to echo in my mind. Mason mentioned that he thought she may have been blind. And it all seemed to make sense.

She was blind.

And she stayed under the light, because that's where she knew she was safest. She could only hear what was coming. So she stayed under the safety of the light.

And it hit me like a ton of bricks. She had spit in the dirt, made mud and rubbed it in my eyes.

The God of Peace leaned His face near mine. But I could only hear it, despite my blindness. He whispered to me, "Don't worry, I'll be your eyes. Stay under my light, and fear no more. Everything is going to work out."

And it made sense. Blind or not, I just need to stay under the light. And I will become the man I need to be.



And through tears of Joy, I can say to you now:

Yahweh is Faithful. I have been delivered.