Eyes are my favorite. When I talk to people, sometimes their eyes tell me more than their mouth does. It’s overwhelming and requires patience to understand what their eyes are saying. To listen to someone’s eyes is to be willing to look deeply and not turn away from the soul you are staring at.
A few Tuesdays back, I got out of marketing and went to wait in the lobby of Texas State’s business building. My friend was picking me up for lunch. As I sat there waiting, the wind picked up outside. It sounded like whips lashing against the windows and doors. Walls of water pounded on the concrete sidewalk and the building. I felt the pounding in my chest.
12:00pm. Nobody went outside. The sky was completely dark. All we could see and hear was the storm.
12:15pm. I was sitting in a car with my friends after having raced through the downpour. All of my things were soaked. Outside things got worse. We tried driving down main roads, but they were shutting down as the water rose. We turned onto a back road. Although we were laughing, making phone calls, talking about how hungry we were and how much Jená had to pee, we all had a little bit of fear tucked away. What if…
12:40pm. We made it through some crossings, hearts racing anytime we were unsure how deep the water really was. Then, we passed this one home that so vividly comes to memory. A quaint one-story home with a humble sidewalk and semi-manicured lawn. The lawn was under water though. The rain had transformed the street into a river, and as it ran by, it deposited gushes of water onto the house’s lot. There wasn’t anything that could be done. It wasn’t until I saw a man in the door frame that the weight of the entire situation hit me. He was standing at the edge of the doorstep, what had become the edge of a river. He just stared out at all that was happening. It seemed that he had surrendered to the inevitable. He didn’t look frantic, upset, confused. None of that. He just stood there. Accepting all of it.
12:45pm. It only took a few minutes to witness it all. Then we were gone, past the neighborhood and out of the flooded areas.
12:55pm. We sat at Henry’s cafe sharing fried Oreos. They were delicious. Everything was…but I couldn’t get that man out of my head. The way he stood there. His posture. His face. His house. I wondered how long it would take to restore that quaint one story home in downtown San Marcos. I wondered who, if anyone, was with the man. I wondered…Why didn’t we stop? I knew the famous line “turn around don’t drown” is what kept us from stopping, but I didn’t like that answer.
In fact, when it comes to our encounters with people, I discourage that answer. With people, we can’t turn around. We can’t turn away from someone because we are afraid of all they could be carrying or because we are afraid that we won’t know how to handle it. Look closely. Look into her eyes. Look into his eyes. They say things. They let you see into their life. Sometimes when you look deeply enough, people are drowning. Their eyes have that look of “help me” or “I am hurting” or “I give up.” It’s scary to witness and so easy to miss. Yet, in those moments, we can’t turn around. Stop fearing what people are going through so much that you leave them in it. Alone. Staring out at all that is happening. Accepting their defeat.
What if my friends and I had gotten out of the car on that Tuesday?
Remembering that man standing in his doorway, I shudder at the thought that no one might’ve risked the waters to meet him where he was at. Thinking about the people around me, I shudder at the thought that no one is willing to look into their eyes, see them in desperate need, and then venture forward to help. No one.
Listen to people’s eyes. You won’t just find pain, but joy, in the fact that you didn’t turn around.
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