“Look at those big eyes!” I exclaimed as I gazed into the beautiful orbs of my new-born daughter. No, she does not have my eyes. Mine are like my father’s eyes, with hallmarks of his Filipino Malay-Chinese heritage. My daughter’s eyes are huge for her face. They are like her father’s big, blue ones. But hers are still a murky gray, like many new-borns, I was told.
The years have sped by. Now she is a young woman, and the eyes, oh my, those hazel-brown eyes, they hold my heart. When she fixes her eyes on me, she knows she can (almost) ask for anything!
Yes, she has her father’s eyes. Her Heavenly Father’s … and her father’s, who is also in heaven.
She sees pain, when others see bad behavior.
She sees need, when others are too busy to mind.
She sees hope, when others see a dead-end.
She sees her Father’s handiwork, when others speed by too fast to notice them.
She sees miracles, when others see defeat.
And because she has her Father’s eyes, she sees through this storm, beyond the winds and the massive waves, as she holds the hand that lovingly guides her. That is why she smiles, with her eyes.