Here’s my primary job at the zoo as a mom.
Sure, I help break up fights over who will hold the map.
I plan our itinerary so we don’t bounce from the lions on the one end of the zoo, to the goats on the other end of the zoo, back to the giraffes way back where the lions are. No, we will see the exhibits one at a time and in order!
I make sure no little hands slip into the fences and no children wander off in search of wild animals.
I decline to pay for every souvenir, snack, and photo booth that we see.
I take pictures of children giggling at the baby monkeys.
But mostly I do this—I point so that whoever my youngest child is at the time can actually find the animal in the tank or grass or exhibit or whatever.
I’ve been doing this for years.
See the lizard?
See, right there. Look where I’m pointing. See?
See that leaf? The big one right there? Look under that. See the lizard?
Every so often, we struggle to find the tiger or the bear, but mostly it’s these camouflaging reptiles and miniature frogs that have us standing at the cage for more than five minutes squinting our eyes, pointing our fingers, and eventually giving up.
Not this time, though.
I’ve been taking kids to the zoo for years, but a few weeks ago I took my two-year-old and discovered he has super-sight. My son can spot a hidden reptile or amphibian the moment he walks up to the glass.
Snake. Lizard. Frog. He points and says the name like this is the easiest exercise on the planet.
Hiding under foliage? Doesn’t matter.
Blending in with the pebbles? Not a problem.
Hanging from a tree at the top of the cage? Can’t fool him.
He sees what is hard to see and notices what is hard to notice.
I need vision like that. I need spiritual super-sight.
Sometimes I’m searching through my circumstances and situations for the peace God promises.
Still, I can’t see it, not through the murky glass, not with my limited vision.
I need God to give me eyes that see His peace, even when it’s hidden, even when I don’t have answers, even when trouble looms, even when the waiting lingers and the uncertainty remains, even when I need the impossible.
Sheila Walsh writes:
In the last major conversation Jesus had with His closest friends, He spoke about peace–but not as we might have expected Him to (5 Minutes With Jesus).
We’d expect perhaps to find peace in the moments of calm or peace in the seasons of blessing.
We have peace when we’re at rest or peace when our relationships are happy and healthy, no one’s mad at us, we’re financially stable and physically well.
Isn’t that when peace comes?
Yet, Jesus told the disciples,
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace (John 16:33a ESV).
What things had He said to them? Had He been talking about heaven, miracles, salvation, grace?
Not at all.
In John 15 and 16, Jesus tells his dearest friends about sorrow and His imminent death, about persecution and martyrdom, and how the world will hate them and harm them.
Then He gives them hope.
Then He promises them peace.
We seek peace in answered prayers, resolved situations, the end of conflicts or the arrival of provision.
We seek it in chocolate, bubble baths, getaways, and running away.
But peace isn’t found there. Peace is found in Jesus Himself right where are in the middle of the pain, before the answers and the fixes and the resolution.
He told the disciples “in me you may have peace.”
Peace isn’t found in a position or a provision; it’s found in a Person.
Jesus is constant, unchanging.
He is faithful.
He is able.
He is compassionate and abundant in His love.
We can rest in Him, deeply rest. We can entrust our lives to Him, every care and concern, every worry that keeps our thoughts churning at night as the clock ticks down hour after hour.
Jesus finished the promise to the disciples that night:
“In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33b ESV).
This is our courage. Our reason to ‘take heart’ and have hope! He has already overcome our every enemy and our every battle.
So, we look to Him and we ask for His vision right here when peace seems hidden and hope hard to see, when we’re staring at circumstances and not seeing the light for all the darkness.
Lord, help me see you! Help me not lose sight of who you are.