My Inner Pharisee

I Was Blind, And Now I See.

Right Now, I Need To Get Real With Myself—No More Putting On A Show For Others. Just The Raw Truth.

I'm Blind, And I've Been Faking Like I'm Not.

I've Been Strutting Around Like I've Got Faith All Figured Out—Like I Know God's Plan, Like I Get How It All Fits Together. Meanwhile, I'm Tripping Over Stuff In The Pitch Black, Banging Into Walls, And Brushing Off The Bruises Like It's All Part Of Some Grand Design.

The Blindness I Won't Own

What Hits Me Hardest About This Gospel Is The Pharisees. They Had It All—Scripture Memorized Cold, The Law On Speed Dial. Religious Pros Through And Through. Yet They Were Totally Blind. Jesus Is Right There, Healing A Guy Born Blind, And They Refuse To See It. Seeing Would Mean Their Whole System Crumbles.

That's Me Too. I've Constructed This Neat Little Worldview—How God Operates, What He Expects, How I Should Live. I'm Guarding It Like Fort Knox, Even When Life Slaps Me With Something Else Entirely. I'd Take Being "Right" Over Getting Healed Any Day. My Tidy Theology Boxes Beat Meeting The Wild, Living God Who Won't Stay Put.

Asking The Wrong Thing

"Who Sinned—This Guy Or His Parents—To Make Him Blind?" I Do This Constantly. Trouble Hits, And I'm Hunting Blame. Gotta Make Suffering Logical So I Feel In Control. Jesus Skips The Question Entirely. "It's So God's Works Can Shine Through Him." I've Been Stuck On "Why?" Instead Of "God, What Are You Up To Here?" 

Truth Is, I Dodge That Because The Answer Might Demand Surrender. Might Mean Quitting The DIY Fixes. Might Force Me To Sit In The Dark And Trust His Light To Break Through.

The "Sight" That's Fooling Me

I Act Like I'm Mostly Shadow, Scrambling For Scraps Of Light To Look Legit. Still Blind, But Squinting Hard, Betting Effort Will Spark Vision Eventually. Jesus Hands Over Brand-New Eyes, And I Swerve. Accepting Them Means Owning I Can't See Solo—That My Disciplines, Smarts, Theology? Useless For Sight. Pride Blocks Me, So I Keep Straining, Performing, And Pretending.

My Inner Pharisee

"Surely We're Not Blind Too, Right?" Jesus Nails It: "If You Were Blind, No Sin—But You Claim 'I See,' So It Sticks."

I'm Shouting "I See!" Convinced I've Got It. My Unadmitted Sin Festers—Not 'Cause God Holds Out, But 'Cause I Won't Name It. The Healed Guy? "I Was Blind, Now I See." Boom—Honest, No Frills. I Choke On "I Was Blind." Still Am, In Too Many Spots.

 What It Takes?

o    Drop The Act. Quit Faking Clarity. Stop Saying I'm Good When Darkness Has Me Pinned.

o    Get Brutally Honest. Call Out The Blind Spots By Name.

o    Hit Confession Raw—No Polished Edit, Just The Mess.

I Must Quit My Solo-Vision Quests. Ditch My "Wisdom," Theology Crutches, And Need For Constant Control. That Man Didn't Prep Himself. He Owned His Blindness; Jesus Gave Him The Touch. My Pride And Fear Are Keeping Me From It.

But Here's The Anchor: God Hasn't Ditched Me In This Fog. He's Here, Always Was—Waiting For Me To Quit The Charade And Let Him Heal. Maybe This Dark Stretch Is Prime Meeting Ground. Once Sighted, My Story Lights Someone Else's Path? What If Owning My Blindness—Then Seeing—Sparks Their "Me Too" Moment with God?

I Gotta Stop Claiming Sight I Don't Have.

Don't Bail In The Dark! Jesus Is Right There, Like With The Blind Guy. Ready To Heal And Restore Sight. And Always Remember--- You Don’t Get Message Without Starting With the Mess-