Others are wall flowers. Pleading dance card in hand. They dare a glance up, desperate for you to see, "I'm waiting."
There are those you stalk, sleep on their front stoop. Break and enter into their impenetrable fortress.
Still other dreams are miles away, pacing their steps toward you. Upon meeting in the middle, realization hits: you'd know that face anywhere. Every step toward this union finally makes sense.
Some dreams captivate us and come true with little effort
Some wait for us to take hold of them
Some block us out, making us work for their fruition
Some are so private, even we don't know they exist until we enter them
All have commonality of one thing: the Giver. He sees the heart that dares to rush into a dream headlong and rejoices when it comes true. His eye spies the soul a tad shy and scared to go after what it longs for and holds her hand encouraging. Without fail, the weary and frustrated remain in His view and care. And His glance does more than pass by the one who excitedly recognizes a discovered dream...He whispers delighted wisdom her way.
Not all dreams will come true. Not all dreams that come true will equate to easeful joy. That's just the way it can be. But one certainty is and was and will always be true: His eye is on you.
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? ~Matthew 6:26
Words: Civilla Martin. Music: Charles Gabriel.
Early in the spring of 1905, my husband and I were sojourning in Elmira, New York. We contracted a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle—true saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nigh twenty years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheel chair.
Despite their afflictions, they lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration and comfort to all who knew them. One day while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it.
Mrs. Doolittle's reply was simple: "His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me." The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped the hearts and fired the imagination of Dr. Martin and me. The hymn "His Eye Is on the Sparrow" was the outcome of that experience. ~Civilla Martin