Can God open my eyes without me trying harder?

The light from your phone is the only thing glowing in the room. You’ve been staring at the same spot on the screen for minutes, not really reading, just… stuck. The world feels filtered through a lens you didn’t choose—one that makes everything look heavy, dim, and impossibly far away. It’s the lens of ‘not enough,’ of ‘what if,’ of seeing only what’s missing.

What if you didn’t have to hold that focus so tightly? The grip is already slipping. Your fingers are tired from clutching a perspective that drains the color from everything. That tightness in your chest? It’s the strain of trying to see through a fog that wasn’t meant for your eyes.

‘Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped.’ That’s not a distant prophecy for someone else. It’s an announcement for right now, for the parts of you that feel shut down. The opening isn’t something you force. It’s something that happens *to* you. Like ice thawing on a windowpane, the old frost of fear and lack is melting. Light you didn’t manufacture is starting to seep through the cracks. The deafness to kindness? The stopped-up ears that only hear criticism? Something is loosening those blockages from the inside. You are being unstopped. You are being opened. This isn’t about you squinting harder. It’s about a gentler light finding you, softening the edges you’ve been straining against. The old lens is slipping from your grasp because a truer sight is being given. A new way of seeing where you are not the problem to be solved, but the beloved being found.

Feel that? A slight give in the tightness. A quiet space where the old story used to shout. You’re not holding on anymore; you’re being held in a clearer light.