Seeing Past The Crowds by Emily Owen

“We went to a museum” said my niece. She was telling me about half term with my parents.

“And it was really busy. There were too many people and I couldn’t see anything.”

I said what a shame it was that she hadn’t seen any of the special things at the museum.

“I did see them,” she said, “Oupa (Grandpa) lifted me up, and then I could see.”


Oupa lifted me up, and then I could see.


Sometimes, I think the writing world can feel rather crowded. There are so many books out there! We can’t see. Other books, or writers, or deadlines, or longing for deadlines, get in the way. And we lose sight of what we are doing.

And we end up not being able to see anything.


Surrounded by writing, and books, and writers, and life, we can’t see anything.

And perhaps we end up losing sight of God in it all.

We can’t see the wood for the trees, as the saying goes.

We need an Oupa to lift us up, so we can see.


But who is our Oupa?

If this were Sunday School, I guess you’d all be holding an arm up and shouting, “God!”

And, if this were Sunday School, I’d be telling you you’re right.

God does lift us up so we can see.

But I’d like to suggest another Oupa, too.

Ourselves.

You.

Me.

When we're surrounded by other writers, deadlines, lack of deadlines, whatever it may be – all of which deserve our attention – perhaps we could first lift our eyes up.

Lift our eyes up so we can see.

See God, in and above the things that crowd around us.

Because He is in them all.

And He is waiting to be seen...

At the museum, my niece had drawn a picture, which she proudly presented to me; "This is for you!"

I was delighted, and thanked her profusely as I took the picture, then I looked it it - turned it this way and that - murmuring to myself (with increasing desperation); 'What is it?'

E must have heard me, because she started to explain what the picture was. Then she realised I wasn't looking at her. I was asking 'What is it?' while my gaze was directed at the picture. Clearly the picture couldn't answer me. 

Knowing I am deaf and need to see her lips when she speaks, E tapped my knee to get my attention and, once I was looking at her, explained that the picture was of the sea and the beach. Obviously, as you can surely tell.

I needed to look at her to make sense of the picture in front of me.

I need to look to God to make sense of the whirlwind of life as it crowds around me.

I need to let Him lift me up.

So I don't end up not seeing anything.