Now as I looked at the living creatures, I saw a wheel on the earth beside the living creatures, one for each of the four of them. As for the appearance of the wheels and their construction: their appearance was like the gleaming of beryl. And the four had the same likeness, their appearance and construction being as it were a wheel within a wheel. When they went, they went in any of their four directions without turning as they went. And their rims were tall and awesome, and the rims of all four were full of eyes all around. (Ezekiel 1:15–18)
I used to be afraid of what Ezekiel saw... eyes all around the wheels, moving in all directions. I thought of them as scary, snooping eyeballs, bulging independently and variously as in a horror shop. Then one day for some reason, I remembered the watchful, loving eyes of our dog Miso, honey amber around small black pupils and completely outlined with dark fur like soft eyeliner. Eyes I treasure. And I was enlightened.
To move from kitchen to living room couch and have Miso's eyes follow me from where he lays in the sunshine, is to be loved. To see his eyebrows raise when I approach the treat cupboard is to know hope. A good dog is an okay avenue by which to approach the Holy God. One must have a way and He knows this. Perhaps this is why everything was made.
Now, when I think of the eternally spinning eyes, I think of the eyes I most love in the world. Of being seen, known and delighted in by not just my dog, but my husband, my children and my mother. And then from these earthly goods, I know the eyes of God are only better, a shift higher in the direction of "yes, and".
Life can be blurry, messy and damaging. If life is like a pot of pasta, my once freshly cooked noodles are tangled, sticky and, the older I get, hardened. An increasingly impossible task to make all work out. Like Ezekiel in another famous vision, some of us scan the windless plain of past remorse, of dry bones and wreckage. "Son of man, can these bones live?" We whisper, "Sovereign Lord, you alone know." Why ask, Lord? You alone see the past, the present and the way to life, if there is indeed one. But He sees every sticky strand, curving path and dry bone. And what He sees makes all the difference.
I am looking for the eyes. I feel an unspeakable longing for the compassion, clarity, and attentiveness behind them. There is an eye with a tear forming at its rim, circumference for my grief but with no opening for despair. There is an eye that bores unblinkingly through blandly spoken courtesies deftly disarming shards of envy or murderous disregard. There is an eye blazing with vigor that instantly erases fatigue and battle weariness and lends joy from the ancient yet ageless heart of God. His sight is provision for a race of children wandering in the dark. As the psalmist knew, let me know "In your light, we see light".
