I'm trying to see God everywhere
But these days I can't help but suspect
That my eyes are faulty, I require Holy Spirit -
tinted glasses to see between the lines of atoms
Because it's hard to find God in these eyes
These eyes that have beheld my mother's tears,
That behold brokenness like beaches hold sand,
These eyes trained and conditioned by the media,
That shapes these eyes to be blind to God.
These pupils dance with delight at the sight of
Jerry Springer and Jersey Shore, they search for
Victoria's Secret and Waldo with the same roaming eagerness
Surely God does not reside there.
These eyes have been scarred with the
burning image of forsakeness and shame
I have seen the naked forms of sons and daughters,
Shameless as the day they walked in Eden,
but the shame resides in my eyes as I,
perched on the branches above like Satan, have lusted.
These eyes that have seen children exposed,
Vulnerable, abused, violated, and forgotten.
These eyes that have seen things they can't unsee
But God is not among them.

But these eyes, these eyes, are all we have.
Shannon, your eyes are beacons on this foggy night.
Their cat-like allure is my desert mirage,
I know they glow because of the God you see.
But Shannon, this world hates your eyes,
Hates them for their widening awe at seeing miracles,
And blessings, at seeing love and grace.
Hates the dew that kisses your Irises as
You lament and mourn broken hearts about you.
Hates your furrowed brow in the face of injustice,
This world that hates the hope that hides
In the corner of your eye, the residue of dreams,
From the night before, it wants to wipe the dust away.
But most of all Shannon, this world hates your eyes
Because they are beautiful.

They are beautiful to see, beautiful to behold,
With them beauty is seen and by them beauty is made.
Because if my eyes are trying to see God everywhere,
Your eyes, Shannon, are succeeding.
Your eyes that have not beheld His crowned silhouette,
Or mountains moved or fire on tongues,
But you have sat on benches and watched children play.
The drooping sun ornamenting the playground,
And blowing purple and red kisses on their cheeks.
Your eyes have watched them like cherubim.
Singing sweet serenades and tapping the children's halos.
Tap Tap Chime, Tap Tap Chime, like the seasons they play.
And all the while Shannon, your eyes see Holy.
They see immaculate in every conception,
Your eyes see miracle and grace in every cell.
And that is beautiful Shannon.

Beautiful like the hallway wallflowers,
The abandoned convict and triumphant gangster,
Beautiful like the stay-at-home dad,
The single mother, the middle child, beautiful.
All of them beautiful with beautiful eyes,
Eyes like yours that capture brokenness like cameras.
The same eyes that see Sacred in every shade,
Hallowed in every ground, Divinity in every breath
That kisses windows and reflections and mirrors
All folded within these eyes.

So Shannon I'm looking for God everywhere,
Simply in every glance, every frame, every shot.
Looking for God like you've found him,
I am jealous for your eyes, those rare gems.
I am jealous like the world is jealous.
But I do not hate your eyes like they do.
For Shannon, you are a prophetess,
Speaking God into being, painting him with your eyes
That see through this maggoty flesh,
And begin to mold my soul into something beautiful,
Because of your beautiful eyes, Shannon,
I can begin to believe that I am beautiful.
That somehow you see God in me with those eyes,
Those sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet eyes,
They do not see what the world sees in me.
They do not see what my shame see, what my past sees,
No they see God in me, and that is beautiful.