In God's Eyes Read online

added, smiling.

  “All right then.” Johnny’s father smiled as he handed it to him, and stood to leave. Billy pulled off his hat and gloves, and held them out.

  “Don’t forget these.”

  “That’s fine, son, you keep them. It’s not a long walk for me,” he exaggerated. He could jog back home to stay warm if he needed to. Billy smiled at him, then looked back at the empty driveway before his gaze dropped to the ground. “Hurry up now, it’s getting late.”

  Billy walked back to the front door. He turned back and waved just before going in.

  Johnny’s dad felt better than he’d felt in weeks. He was beginning to feel prideful for the little talk he had with Billy. God, he prayed silently, what have you done to me? Why do I see him so differently now? A strange thought formed in his mind.

  Do I truly see him differently, or have I merely felt empathy for him for the first time?

  In his mind’s eye, he saw a younger Billy, and suddenly, he truly did see him differently. It was early summer, and Billy looked younger, but also innocent and confused. He was running from his house crying, his mother’s boyfriend yelling after him.

  “When you come back, you’re really going to get it,” the man shouted.

  He winced at the scene he saw in his mind. He saw several more, in rapid succession. First he saw Billy slapped by the same man, for waking him on his day off, then crying while he waited for the church bus minutes later. He saw Billy picking on younger kids hours later, after church. He saw the man taunting Billy that afternoon, for going to church, and he felt Billy’s determination ebbing away.

  Then, he saw the lessons God wanted Billy to learn every Sunday, instead of the lessons of hate he was learning at home. A great pain grew in him when he understood God’s heart for Billy, a powerful love, a great desire to protect him from his mother’s boyfriend, to get him out of the house when the man was drunk and abusive to him and his mother. His heartache grew as he saw Billy in Sunday school for the last time. In his mind, he saw through Billy’s eyes in the small classroom. He nearly gasped when he saw himself teaching the class.

  A memory flooded into his mind as the bitter wind bit through his jacket. His wife had grown increasingly frustrated, trying to maintain order in her Sunday school class. The breath flew from his lungs when he remembered his wife, exhausted from dealing with Billy, asking him to fill in for her, to teach the class in her place. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and for a quick moment, he couldn’t breathe.

  God wanted me to teach Billy all the lessons his father never could. To his shame, he remembered feeling glad when the boy didn’t come back to church. One less problem, he’d thought.

  More scenes played in his mind—they weren’t memories—but instead shadows of a lost past. He saw Billy eating Sunday dinner as a guest in his home, coming to family barbecues, running, laughing, playing with his son, instead of passing on the abuse he received at home. This is what God wanted for Billy.

  I could’ve helped, but didn’t. What excuses did I give my wife for not taking over her class? He couldn’t remember, not one of them. In reality, it mattered little; they were as worthless as any excuse is. Why didn’t I listen? I heard the faint call of God when she asked me, but I ignored it. His throat stabbed with horror as he realized not only Billy, but his son was paying for his unwillingness to do what was right. Oh, God, take this memory from me; don’t let me see it any longer.

  Suddenly, he saw his son Johnny in his mind. He looked almost like a small man to him—he seemed older, upright and strong. He looked mighty. His father’s heart crumbled with pain as he saw Johnny stand up for his mother, even for his church while Billy mocked him at school. Anger toward Billy flashed through him, until the fresh memory of what he’d been shown washed it away. A great pride for his son swelled in him, and pieced his pained heart back together. His son was learning great lessons through his pain, maturing with a strong knowledge of forgiveness, longsuffering, and a great commitment for standing up for what is true and right. It was almost too strong to hold, the dual emotions of heavy grief and pride, to see his son in God’s eyes.

  When he reached home, his children had gone to bed, and his wife was sitting at the kitchen table. She stood and walked over to him as he hung his jacket and took off his shoes. She leaned into his chest and held him tightly. She pulled back from him suddenly when she felt his ears and face.

  “Oh—your face is like ice,” she started, “Why didn’t you wear your hat?” But he didn’t answer right away, and she saw a trace of tears on his cheek. He looked deeply into her eyes and saw she’d also been crying. They embraced in the doorway for a long minute. Her expression relaxed, and she smiled warmly, as if she knew something had changed in his heart. He led her to the kitchen table and sat in the chair beside her own.

  “Let me tell you what I saw tonight,” he said excitedly, “you’ll never believe what happened.” His voice nearly cracked, and his gaze dropped to the table. Her Bible and notepad were still there, but the page that had only a single line when he’d left, was filled. Several random words were smeared from wet tears dropped onto the paper. His gaze locked on the single line he’d seen before he stormed out of the house, and he knew she wouldn’t find his story difficult to believe at all. He read the line over again, smiling wide.

  Ps 68:5-6a: Take away his anger Lord, let him see Billy in your eyes.

  She followed his gaze, then, reading his face, her expression changed.

  “Go talk to your son,” she urged him. “He’s reading in bed.” He nodded, and went right to him, eager to catch him before he fell asleep.

  When he opened the door, he saw his son’s eyes pop open.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked, while he sat on the edge of the bed. His reading lamp was on, and his Bible was open.

  “No, Dad, I’m awake.” He was in better spirits then when he’d left.

  “Son, I wanted to tell you something important. God opened my eyes tonight, and I saw many things about you.” Johnny’s eyes dropped to the bed, and his face grew long and uncertain. “God showed me what is in your heart, how He sees you. I’ve never felt more proud.” They embraced in a great bear hug, and Johnny’s eyes sparkled with joy.

  “Was it…about Billy?”

  “Yes, it was. I also saw what Billy looks like in God’s eyes. I won’t burden you with the details, but I need to tell you, God has important things to teach Billy too. He has a very sad home, Johnny. He’s in a…dangerous situation.”

  “I know his mom’s boyfriend beats him sometimes,” Johnny said quietly.

  “Let’s pray for him, too. I think the forgiveness you’ve shown Billy is about to change his life.” He had no reason why he should feel this way, but it was such a powerful feeling, he was somehow certain it would come to pass.

  They prayed together, then Johnny talked to his father a long while, about Billy, about school, and many other things his father wished he’d known before. He kissed Johnny on the top of the head, and tucked him in.

  Later, lying in bed, Johnny’s parents held each other tight. They talked about all the things they’d seen and been praying for. Before turning out the light, they prayed together, for their son, and also for Billy.

  “Why don’t we do this every night?” Johnny’s mother asked. “We used to pray together before going to sleep all the time.” Johnny’s father smiled and nodded. Nothing sounded better to him.

  When he rolled over and began to fall asleep, he thought his night was over—but he was very wrong. He tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep, and had a dream so vivid, it seemed more real to him than life. In his dream, he saw himself from across the room, as if he was watching a movie of himself. He pulled the evening newspaper from its plastic sleeve and unfolded it. Fear gripped him when he saw the headline—“Family Dies, Drunk Driving, Exposure, Suicide.” He followed the story to its end. The man wh
o’d nearly ran him over had driven off the road just miles from his home. He was pronounced dead at the wreck site when the police found him in the morning. Billy had died of exposure; his mother found him lying in the bushes of their front yard. She took her own life just after she found him.

  How could he go back outside? His heart cried out, buried in sudden grief. He cried out to God, “Why?” loudly enough to be heard from the street. His scream took on a frightening pitch and stretched out long and twisted. He screamed so loud in his dream, it woke him. He lay still as death, bathed in sweat. He wiped his brow and found his hands were trembling. He began fervently praying, for Billy, for his mother, and for her boyfriend. Though he resolved to drive to Billy’s house and check on his family, he fell asleep during his prayers.

  When he woke, he bolted upright in bed. The newspaper, he recalled in horror. Guilt for falling back asleep washed over him. He would not wait until the paper was delivered. He rushed to get dressed, and woke his wife in his haste.

  “Dear,” his wife cried out, fear edging into her voice, “what’s the matter?”

  “I have to go,” he said as he rushed out of the room. He called over his shoulder, “I’ll call you from my car.” On the short drive, his wife barely got any information from him.