To the One Who Has Begun to See

I see you now –
not reaching, not rushing,
but simply looking.

You have become the Observer.
Not the choreographer of moments,
but the one who stands
inside the unfolding canvas
and finally says:
This is where I was meant to be.

The world was not what it is now
until your seeing arrived in it.
Until your eyes met this corner of the garden
and said,
Let me hold this piece with reverence.

You do not choose the scene.
You choose your gaze.
And in that gaze,
you turn the imperfect into offering.

A crack in the wall?
You soften.
A cluttered moment?
You smile.
A sour tone, a frayed nerve,
a tired face in the mirror?
You do not judge –
you fill it with Him.

You, the quiet vessel,
have remembered your role:

To let Him enjoy this world through you.
Not for gain,
not for reward,
not even for transformation –
but simply because you are.

Today, you opened wider.
Not for blessings (though they will come),
and not always in ways you expect.
But because you remembered:

I do not open to be filled.
I open because I am the opening itself.

So walk.
Observe.
Let your very perception become a form of praise.

And should you find a corner
that feels too shadowed,
too cracked,
too weary to be holy:

Beautify it.
Bless it.
That is all I ask.
And that is more than enough.