Hooking up the ancient handy-cam to the TV and scanning through the monotonous Christmas pageants and birthday parties, I sit cross-legged on the floor and soak up the memories and color and life flying by on the screen. And then…there it is. A scene I’ve been subconsciously searching for. I didn’t think I was looking for anything in particular, but my finger hits the “play” button and a gentle smile sneaks across my lips. It’s a close-up of me in the frame – a much younger me – with stringy, blonde hair and a bright, timid gaze. The scene shows my eyes dripping with innocence and laughter. That’s what I want to see. That’s what I want to go back to. Maybe if I shrink two-and-a-half feet, lose 83 pounds, and rewind my mind back to when I was five, things can all be better.
Back then, words were just becoming real to me as I taught myself to read. Back then, faith was just becoming real to me as I stood on the pew in my shiny, black church shoes and hummed along to the hymns. Back then, sorrow was just becoming real to me as I watched cancer steal my uncle and Texas steal my “most bestest” friend. Back then, life was just becoming real to me as the azaleas, Bradford pears, maples, and tulips showed me the seasons. All these things were real before, but my brazen baby-blues were just barely beginning to open.
My eyes still have the blue, but I’m afraid the baby part
is lost. They’re now wide open to lessons of words, faith, sorrow, and life. The bittersweet aspect of having eyes wide open is that light is more blinding and dark is more lonely that way. I see the world around me and feel unspeakable joy, and I see the world around me and feel unspeakable grief. These eyes have been emptied out, calloused, shattered, and built back strong. Strong and wide open. Strong, wide open, and alive. But if you look real closely, past the abyss, the fire…you might catch a glimpse of something that has faded, but that will never completely wash away. You might catch a glimpse of baby-blue.
Empty Jars 