What is your reaction when the line at the grocery store is held up by one person who needs a price check?  Or how do you treat that woman with the baggy sweatpants, greasy hair and t-shirt with holes?  Are you annoyed by the too-young mom speaking harshly to her toddler?  Have you been tempted to call the discipline police when an 8-year-old is throwing a toddler tantrum and the parent doesn’t seem to notice?

Too often, I’ve rolled my eyes, patted myself on the back for my well-behaved (at that moment) children, quickly thrown out my holey t-shirts and stalked the check-out lanes to avoid the couponer who is wanting every price matched (and yes, I’ve been that person, too).  I have run from the tattoos and overgrown facial hair. I chose to assume the worst about that person.  But as I’ve grown older and ventured more out of my comfort zone, my eyesight has changed.

I’ve asked for a new set of eyes: Jesus’ eyes.  Eyes that see the heartache and share it instead of protecting my heart in cold bubble-wrap.  Viewing my trust in God to help me through the pain of rejection when my offer to help is denied or when letting go hurts.  Realizing that my idea of normal is man-made, not God’s idea.  Suddenly, many of the decisions I need to make day-to-day seem so clear, less foggy.

I see a wife trying to stretch every penny since her husband has been laid off.  I see the single mom struggling to clothe her children while working two jobs.  I see an autistic child trying to communicate and a weary mother just wanting to get her grocery shopping completed.  I have realized that I have been judgmental in my sheltered little bubble.  I have been fearful to ask if I can help, afraid that my heart will break at the reality of the world around me.

When I look at the soul of a person instead of the body, I choose to focus how I can serve instead of how I’ll be inconvenienced. I’m seeing that person through Jesus’ eyes, with love.

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