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Holy Spittle

All he knew was blackness.  Of course, he knew sounds and smells, probably far too well.  He knew the scent of fresh baked bread and savory meats, as well as spoiled fruit and rotten fish.  He knew the voice of his beloved parents, yet too often experienced the curse of those he got in the way of.  He heard mostly mean taunts constantly ringing in his ears and reminding him of his despised status of beggar.  Touch for him was known as well, but it had been years since he had a hug.  No, he was more often shoved, pushed around, and even stepped upon.  He seemed to always be in the way of folks. . .

His ears perked up, he felt himself straining to hear.  It seemed as if he had become a point of conversation for a group of "passer-byers".  They seem to be asking someone about his fate, someone they called a Rabbi.  They asked the question that he himself had so often thought as well, had his sorry state been because of his parents' sin or sin that he had caused himself?  He knew too well the torment of trying to figure out why he had been born that way, even his parents' love and reassurance left an emptiness in him.  Years begging for his food resulted in feeling worthless and alone, surely his life must be the outcome of former generational sin.  

The beggar must have thought, "Did I hear that right?  The Voice that spoke said it was neither me nor my parents' fault? No?"  The Voice went on, "so that God's works can be displayed in him, we must work the works of Him who sent Me, especially while it is daytime." "What?  God's works displayed in me?"

Oh, false alarm . . . he knew that sound of spit.  Although, this time it didn't land on him.  He had been spit upon so often, his gleam of hope seemed squelched.  His head dropped down, but then he felt a gentle touch upon his chin.  The Hand lifted his head and placed a cold moist paste upon his eyes.  "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam, " was all the Voice had said.

Getting up, he probably needed help to find his way to that nearby pool.  He had to get through the gawking crowds, now commenting on his face.  "Look at that fool with mud on his eyes," they laughed, "let him through!"  He didn't care, all the Voice had said was go and wash, and that was what he would do . . . 

He heard the splashing of others in the pool, and he knew that he was almost there.  He pursued those sounds until his own feet stepped into the water wetness.  He felt himself grow buoyant as he walked on in.  He submerged his head and rubbed his eyes, and up he came to behold first sights!  The brightness of the sky, the color of all those faces staring now at him, wow . . . this is what it means to see!

He caused a major stir . . . neighbors couldn't believe, they thought he must be a twin of the former blind man.   But no, he set the record straight, "I am the one.  The One called Jesus made a Holy spittle for just my eyes.  I went and washed, and now I see!"

A life of darkness now lives in light.  His life is a full display of God's working power and plan. Hardships, trials, things we don't understand are not necessarily the result of what we've done or grown up with.  Sometimes, it's the reality of earthly life; it is what it is.  But always there is opportunity for God to perform His working power in us.  We have to be listening for God's voice, humble ourselves to His way of doing things, and accepting of the Holy spittle placed upon our eyes.  Our response evokes action.  Wash off what has blinded us and receive His gift of seeing grace!       

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