I grew up in Amarillo, Texas. And I remember watching my mom navigate the wonderful world of vision changes as I got older. First she started holding the newspaper at arm's length, squinting like she was trying to read smoke signals. Then came the reading glasses. Those little drugstore specials that she'd lose approximately fourteen times a day. I'd find them on her head while she was frantically searching the kitchen counters, calling out, "Has anyone seen my glasses?"
But the transformation wasn't complete yet. She has since achieved what I like to call Six-Eyes Status. She'll wear her sunglasses through the drive-through and her readers at the same time. The drive-through employees' faces say everything.
Here's what I find fascinating though: we completely accept that our physical eyes need different corrections for different situations. We get it. Our eyes need help to see clearly.
And that's exactly what the blind man in Mark 8 needed. He couldn't get to Jesus on his own, so his friends led him by the hand. Jesus touched him once and he could see shapes, but not clearly. People looked like trees walking around. It took a second touch before he saw everything clearly.
That two-stage healing is a picture of how most of us come to see Jesus. We start by sensing something is true, but we can't quite make it out yet. We need the second touch. We need more time with Him.
And in the meantime, so many of us are like my mom tearing apart the kitchen looking for something that's been on her head the whole time. We search everywhere for meaning and clarity and answers, when the One who can actually open our eyes is closer than we think and more accessible than we realize.