Color Blind

“The colors are fabulous tonight,” she said.

“Um. Yeah,” I mumble.

“You see the pinks? The purple behind that cloud?” she asks.

The sunset unfolding was just one of those unforgettable ones, with the big sky and panoply of changing clouds and colors. It’s the kind with big puffy clouds backlit by a fading spotlight, layering the horizon.

But the pregnant pause gives me away. “You don’t see them, do you,” she says. My little game is up. 

Scenes like this have repeated my whole life. I wonder how much romance I’ve missed out on because of my color blindness.  I’ve given flowers that just don’t work. And I’ve missed giving compliments on clothing and jewelry, never noticing the perfectly selected accessory.

From Birth

I don’t see the full spectrum of colors. Blame it on my mother, who carried the gene that keeps the cones in my receptors from seeing them. Choosing colors from the 16 color palette is okay, but 256 is pushing it. And when Windows 7 whips out the 65 million colors, I’m just lost.  

Don’t get me wrong. This doesnt mean I live in black and white world. I see blues pretty well. And solid colors are usually safe – green and red and brown. But if you take out any more crayons out of the box, my mind just jumbles the color.  An off-green will turn gray in my mind’s eye. Or brown. I know the red letters in my Bible, only because the title says they are and after these years on this site, I better have that one down.

And I’ve been told green looks good on me.  Trouble is, I can’t see it hanging on the rod, mixing it with brown pants. I’ve been known to walk out of the house with some hideous combinations.

Living in a color blind world might seem drab to you. But really,  it’s easy, simple. The guy working the paint desk at the hardware store loves people like me. No burnt sienna. No cerulean frost.  No electric crimson. I’m all about blue, brown, black and white. And clothing shopping is just about the basics.

I’ve carried this into my life with God. I know there are variations about what to believe. I cling to a few basics about my faith and leave the spectrum to others.  My brother doesn’t worship in an organized church, choosing to meet like first-century believers in the “public squares.” So they’ll get together in a park and have church there.  He sees the colors differently than I.  He doesn’t like that I don’t see his color. I don’t know what to say, except, “see you in church.”

I know full immersion people, baby sprinklers and three-times dunkers.  And I love them all.  “Believe and be baptized.” I’m not sure the fine details are all that important. It’s the coverted heart that God cares about.

Pre trib. Post Trib. Mid trib. Bottom line, is that he’s coming and I need to be ready.

The fundamental belief that we must all think and act the same way, denys the creativeness of God Himself. 

There are people who don’t like the choices I’ve made.  I am not all that proud of the life I’ve lived. And there are verses and teachings that will rightly condemn me, putting me in guilt’s black box. But Redemption’s Road means despite my limited vision, the whole palate is open to me.

When we get to heaven, we’ll be surprised by all the colors. And I’ll see them all.

Until then, I’ll be happy with the simple few that I can see.

Please, share with a friend if you feel moved.
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