listening and a baby's eyes

Just a small thought tonight.

I've been trying to listen more and more to God lately. If you've been reading these blog posts or spending time with me, you probably know that already.

Part of listening to God has been through group prayer with a few friends before chapel every day. In those times, we've prayed about so many different things. But perhaps the most common thing has been praying against distractions, praying that people will simply be able to stop and focus and hear God.

Part of listening to God has been stopping in my own time and simply asking God, "Is there anything you want to say?" And then waiting. And then writing anything that comes on a little piece of paper to stick in my pocket for that day.

Part of listening to God has been listening for him in other peoples' words, watching for those words or phrases that glow with a God-filled truth. I was reading a book called "Framing Faith" this week, in which the author, a photographer, wrote about stopping to soak in the moments God has placed us in, to try to escape the pervasion of distraction. That word again, and I wrote it on my little paper in my pocket, the only word that day.

Part of listening to God has been waiting for the moments that enact Him. A few days ago, I was outside with my friend Claire and we walked by Matt, one of the staff members who lives here on campus with his wife and baby. He was pushing his son, Remi, in the stroller, and we were quickly glued to his adorable face, filling the air with oo's and aw's. I've been enchanted with Remi's beautiful, big, blue eyes ever since the first time I met him. His gaze was moving quickly from person to person around the stroller as we tickled his toes, tapped his nose, and played peek-a-boo with his favorite moose toy. But then he stared at me. He just stopped moving, unblinking, staring deep into my eyes. It filled me with this crazy happiness that only babies seem to bring. And as I finally just gazed into Remi's blue almond-eyes, I saw my own reflection, the silhouette of myself in his eyes. "I can see myself in your eyes!" I told him. And I think I felt God in that moment. And things came together.

Part of listening to God is getting rid of distractions. It's focusing. Stopping. Staring into His eyes. And I have a hunch that the more we gaze into Him, the more He will be filled with the joy of knowing we see Him. And soon we will reflect Him. That's what I want.

I'm writing this in my friend Claire's room, and I can't help but wonder if God has more to say tonight. Or maybe He just wants me to focus on being present right here, right now. I think I will.


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