Chapter 1: The Day Clarity Did Not Arrive All at Once

There are mornings when you wake up and realize you are better than you were, but you are still not whole. The room is quiet, the phone is charging beside the bed, and for a few seconds you can almost believe the hard season is behind you. Then an old fear rises, or a memory returns, or you feel that same heaviness in your chest, and you wonder why healing still feels unfinished. That is where the video message on Jesus healing in stages belongs, and it is where the faith to keep going while life still looks blurry can help a person feel less ashamed of being in the middle.

Most people know how to celebrate a clean ending. They understand the testimony where someone was lost and then found, broken and then restored, blind and then seeing. We love the story where the problem is fixed before anyone has to sit with the uncomfortable middle. But many people do not live in a clean ending yet. They live somewhere between the first touch and the second touch. They are not who they used to be, and they are grateful for that, but they cannot honestly say everything is clear. They are trying to follow Jesus while still blinking through confusion.

That is why the healing of the blind man in Mark 8 is so tender and strange. A blind man is brought to Jesus in Bethsaida, and people beg Jesus to touch him. We expect the story to move quickly because so many other healing stories do. Jesus touches. The person is restored. The crowd reacts. But this time Jesus takes the man by the hand and leads him outside the village. Before the man receives clear sight, he receives the hand of Jesus. Before he can see where he is going, he has to trust the One leading him.

That small detail matters more the longer you sit with it. Jesus does not heal him as a public display in the middle of everyone’s curiosity. He does not turn the man’s blindness into a moment for the crowd to consume. He takes him away from the noise. Maybe the man heard people behind him growing softer with each step. Maybe he felt the ground change under his feet. Maybe he wondered why Jesus was not doing the miracle right there where everyone had brought him. He could not see the path, but he could feel the hand.

There are seasons when God’s mercy feels like that. Not instant clarity. Not a full map. Not a loud answer everyone around you can admire. Just the quiet sense that Jesus has taken your hand and is leading you away from the noise that has been naming you for too long. Away from the people who only know you by what is broken. Away from the expectations that say healing should happen fast. Away from the pressure to perform strength before your heart has learned how to stand again.

Someone may know exactly what that feels like. You sit in your car after work and do not go inside right away because you need a minute to gather yourself. You have made progress. You did not react the way you used to. You did not send the angry message. You did not fall back into the old habit. You prayed before the meeting. You stayed calm when you wanted to shut down. But you still feel shaky. You still feel tired. You still wonder why growth has not made life easier yet. You are thankful, but you are not clear.

That is a difficult place to admit, especially for people who believe in Jesus. We sometimes think faith means we should have a strong answer for everything happening inside us. We think if God has touched our life, we should only speak in finished sentences. I am healed. I am free. I am restored. I am fine. Those words may be true in part, and one day they may be true in fullness, but there is also a holy honesty in saying, “I see something, but I do not see clearly yet.”

The man in Mark 8 gives us that honesty. Jesus touches his eyes and asks, “Do you see anything?” The question itself is surprising. Jesus already knows. He is not gathering information because heaven is confused. He is inviting the man to tell the truth about the condition of his sight. The man answers with words that sound almost awkward: “I see people; they look like trees walking around.”

He is no longer blind, but he is not seeing clearly. Something has changed, but the change is not complete. Light has entered, but shape is still distorted. Movement is visible, but details are not settled. The miracle has begun, yet the man is standing in a half-healed moment with Jesus right in front of him.

I think many people are standing there too. They can see enough to know Jesus has been merciful, but not enough to understand everything He is doing. They have left some darkness behind, but their vision of the future is still blurred. They can tell God has touched them, but they still struggle to sort out fear from wisdom, grief from growth, patience from delay, and hope from wishful thinking. They are better, but not finished.

That unfinished place can produce shame if we let the wrong voices interpret it. Shame says, “If Jesus had really healed you, you would not still be struggling.” Shame says, “If your faith were stronger, you would not still be confused.” Shame says, “You should not need another touch.” But Jesus does not speak to the man that way. He does not scold him for partial vision. He does not act embarrassed that the first touch did not leave the man seeing clearly. He does not walk away and leave the man to manage the blur. He stays.

That is the quiet beauty of the story. Jesus stays in the unfinished place. He remains close enough to touch the man again. That means partial healing is not proof that Jesus failed. It may be proof that He has started something He intends to finish. The middle is not evidence of abandonment. The blur is not the final word. The fact that you are not fully clear today does not mean Jesus is done with you.

This matters for the person healing from years of pressure. It matters for the person trying to trust again after betrayal. It matters for the person learning to pray after a long silence. It matters for the one who has stopped pretending but still feels exposed. Healing is not always clean, quick, or easy to explain. Sometimes it happens in layers because the human heart is not a machine. We are not repaired like broken parts on a table. We are restored as living souls, and living souls often need patience.

A person trying to recover from regret may understand this better than anyone. They may have confessed what needed to be confessed and changed what needed to be changed, but the memory still returns in quiet moments. They may know God forgives, but they are still learning how to stop punishing themselves. They may be walking in a new direction, but some days the old self still feels too familiar. That does not mean grace is weak. It means the second touch still matters.

What I love about this story is that the man does not pretend. He does not say, “Yes, I can see perfectly,” just because Jesus has already touched him once. He does not perform a finished miracle to make the crowd comfortable, because the crowd is not even the center of the scene anymore. He tells the truth in the presence of Christ. That is where healing can continue. Not where we perform clarity, but where we admit the blur.

Maybe the first invitation of this article is simple. Stop lying about how clearly you can see. Not to everyone. Not carelessly. Not in a way that hands your heart to unsafe people. But with Jesus, stop pretending. Tell Him where it is still blurry. Tell Him where you still cannot make out the shape of things. Tell Him where fear still distorts people, where pain still distorts the future, where shame still distorts your own reflection.

Jesus is gentle enough to hear the truth and strong enough to keep healing you after you tell it.

Chapter 2: When the Blur Starts Changing What You See

There is a certain kind of silence after an unanswered message that can make a person start inventing stories. You send the text, set the phone down, pick it back up, check it again, and tell yourself you are not going to care. Then an hour passes, then several more, and suddenly the silence feels louder than the words would have been. Maybe they are angry. Maybe they are done with you. Maybe you said too much. Maybe you were foolish to reach out. Nothing has actually been explained, but the mind begins filling in the empty space with fear.

That is what blurry vision does. It does not only keep you from seeing clearly. It makes unclear things look like something they may not be. A person who has been hurt may see distance and call it rejection. A person who has been betrayed may see caution and call it danger. A person who has failed before may see a new opportunity and call it a future disaster. The eye is not the only thing that needs healing. Sometimes the way we interpret life has been wounded too.

That is why the blind man’s sentence is so important. He does not say, “I see nothing.” He says he sees people, but they look like trees walking around. That means his eyes are receiving something real, but his vision is still distorting what is in front of him. People are there, but they do not look like people yet. Life is coming back into view, but not truthfully enough for him to walk with confidence.

Many of us understand that more than we want to admit. We may not be physically blind, but pain can make us misread people. Fear can make us misread God. Shame can make us misread ourselves. A person can look in the mirror and see only what they regret. They can hear a loving correction and receive it as rejection. They can face a normal delay and feel abandoned. They can read one hard day as proof that nothing is changing. That is not clear sight. That is the blur talking.

Jesus knew the man was not finished seeing. He knew the shapes were wrong. He knew the man’s first sight was real but incomplete. And still, Jesus did not panic. That is something we should hold onto. The man’s partial vision did not create anxiety in Christ. Jesus was not surprised by the middle stage. He was not rushing because the miracle did not look perfect yet. He was present, patient, and close.

There is comfort in that for anyone who is still trying to sort out what is real. Maybe you are rebuilding trust with God after a season where prayers felt unanswered. You want to believe He is good, and part of you does, but another part still flinches when life gets hard. Maybe you have started opening your heart again after being wounded by someone you loved, but closeness still scares you. Maybe you are trying to believe your life has purpose, but when you think about the future, everything still looks like shapes moving in fog.

That does not mean you are hopeless. It may mean you are still healing.

Sometimes we expect the first touch of God to fix not only the wound, but every habit the wound created. We want one prayer to undo years of fear. We want one moment of courage to erase every pattern of hiding. We want one act of forgiveness to make every memory gentle. But real people are more complicated than that. The heart remembers. The body remembers. The mind builds defenses. The soul learns ways to survive that later become hard to release.

A woman who spent years being criticized may finally be around people who love her, but she still hears judgment in harmless comments. A man who lost everything once may finally have steady work again, but he still checks his bank account with a tight stomach. Someone who grew up feeling invisible may finally be seen, but attention still makes them uncomfortable because part of them does not trust it. These are not small things. They are the blurry places where Jesus keeps working.

The danger is that we may start treating the blur as truth. If the man in Bethsaida had walked away after the first touch, he might have lived the rest of his life thinking people really looked like trees. That sounds strange, but we do this in quieter ways. We accept distorted vision as reality because it is better than total darkness. We say, “At least I can see something,” and stop asking Jesus for clarity.

That can happen spiritually. A person who once lived in complete bitterness may become less bitter, but still keep a guarded heart and call it wisdom. A person who once had no faith may begin believing again, but still imagine God as disappointed and far away. A person who once was ruled by shame may learn the word grace, but still speak to themselves with cruelty in private. They have more sight than before, but not clear sight yet.

Jesus wants more for us than barely improved distortion. He is not satisfied with us seeing people as trees when He made us to see people as people. He is not satisfied with us seeing the Father through the fog of fear when He came to show us the Father’s heart. He is not satisfied with us seeing ourselves only through failure when He came to make us new.

This is where the second touch becomes hope. Jesus places His hands on the man’s eyes again, and then the man sees clearly. I love that word again. It means Jesus was willing to continue. He did not treat the need for another touch as an insult. He did not make the man feel guilty for not being finished. The second touch was not proof that the first one failed. It was proof that Jesus was committed to complete restoration.

That matters because many people are afraid to come back to Jesus with the same need. They think they should be past this by now. They prayed about it before. They cried about it before. They surrendered it before. They asked for help before. So when the blur remains, they feel embarrassed to bring it up again. But the story does not show a reluctant Jesus. It shows a willing Jesus.

You can come back.

You can ask again.

You can tell Him again.

You can say, “Lord, I see more than I used to, but I still do not see clearly.”

That kind of prayer may be one of the most honest prayers a person can pray. It does not deny what God has already done. It does not throw away gratitude. It simply refuses to pretend the work is finished when the heart still needs healing. It honors the first touch while asking for the second.

There is a quiet courage in admitting that. It takes courage to say, “I am better, but still afraid.” It takes courage to say, “I forgive, but I still need help letting go of the pain.” It takes courage to say, “I believe, but my trust still feels weak.” It takes courage to say, “Jesus, I can see people moving, but everything is still shaped wrong inside me.”

And Jesus can meet that prayer.

He can heal the way you see others. He can heal the way you see yourself. He can heal the way you see God. He can clear the fear that makes every silence feel like rejection, every delay feel like abandonment, every challenge feel like punishment, and every weakness feel like proof that you are not loved.

The lesson is not that healing always happens slowly. Sometimes God moves in an instant. But this story gives mercy to the people whose healing is not instant. It tells us not to despise the middle. It tells us not to worship the blur. It tells us not to stop with partial sight when Jesus is still standing close.

If your vision is still distorted, do not build your whole life around the distortion. Bring it back to Jesus. Let Him touch the place where fear has been shaping your interpretation. Let Him show you what is truly in front of you. Let Him teach you the difference between what happened to you and what is still possible for you.

You do not have to live forever seeing people as trees. You do not have to call the blur your home. The same Jesus who began opening your eyes can keep healing your sight until you can see with more truth, more peace, and more love than you thought possible.

Chapter 3: The Prayer That Does Not Pretend

There is a kind of prayer that happens late at night when the house is finally quiet and there is nothing left to perform. The dishes may still be in the sink. A lamp may be on in the corner. The phone may be face down because you are tired of checking it. You sit there with your hands folded or open or just resting on the table, and for once you do not have the strength to sound better than you are. The words that come out are not impressive. They are not polished. They are not the words you would say if someone else were listening. They are just true.

That may be one of the holiest places a person can reach.

The blind man in Mark 8 had that kind of moment with Jesus. He did not have to make a speech. He did not have to explain his whole life. Jesus asked him a direct question: “Do you see anything?” And the man answered with the truth he had. Not the truth he wished he had. Not the answer that would have sounded more complete. Not the answer that would have made the miracle look cleaner. He said what was real.

“I see people; they look like trees walking around.”

That sentence is not neat, but it is honest. It is the sound of a person who has received something from Jesus and still needs more. It is the sound of someone who refuses to deny the progress, but also refuses to pretend the progress is finished. He can see. That matters. But he cannot see clearly. That matters too.

Many people get stuck because they think faith requires pretending. They think they have to sound fully healed before they are fully healed. They think they have to speak with certainty while their insides are still trembling. They think they have to tell everyone, “God is good,” while secretly wondering why the answer has taken so long. They think doubt, confusion, sadness, or fear must be hidden because honest words might disappoint God.

But Jesus was not disappointed by the man’s honesty.

That is worth holding close.

Jesus asked the question that gave the man room to tell the truth. He did not shame him for needing another touch. He did not say, “After all I have done, this is all you can see?” He did not turn partial healing into a failure. He received the man’s honest answer and kept working.

There is something deeply freeing about that. Jesus does not need us to protect His reputation by pretending life is clearer than it is. He does not need false testimonies. He does not need us to exaggerate peace, strength, or victory. He is not made greater by our dishonesty. If anything, real faith becomes stronger when it is honest enough to say, “Lord, I see some light, but I still need You.”

A person trying to rebuild after a painful mistake knows how important this is. Maybe they have apologized. Maybe they have changed direction. Maybe they have started making better choices. But inside, there is still sorrow over what happened. They may believe God forgives them, yet still struggle to forgive themselves. They may know they are not who they were, yet still feel a sharp sting when the memory returns. If they pretend the wound is gone, they may never bring the wound back to Jesus for deeper healing.

Honesty is not the enemy of faith. Honesty is often the doorway where faith becomes real.

There is a difference between complaining against God and telling the truth to God. One pushes Him away. The other brings the hidden place into His presence. The blind man was not accusing Jesus when he said his vision was blurry. He was answering Jesus. He was letting the Lord into the exact condition of his sight.

That is what many of us need to learn to do. We need to stop giving Jesus the version of our hearts we think we are supposed to have and start giving Him the heart we actually have. Not because we want to stay broken. Not because we want to excuse sin, bitterness, fear, or unbelief. But because Jesus heals what we bring into the light, not what we keep decorating in the dark.

A man may tell himself he is fine after a hard loss because everyone around him expects him to be steady. He goes to work, answers questions, pays bills, smiles when needed, and keeps functioning. But grief does not disappear just because a person stays useful. Somewhere inside, the world still looks strange. People keep moving like trees. Life goes on, but it does not look right yet. That man does not need someone to hand him a slogan. He needs enough courage to sit with Jesus and say, “Lord, I am still not seeing clearly.”

A woman may be trying to trust again after someone wounded her deeply. She wants to be kind. She wants to be open. She does not want to live guarded forever. But when someone gets close, fear rises before love can settle. She may feel embarrassed by that. She may call herself difficult or damaged. But maybe the better prayer is not, “Lord, why am I not over this?” Maybe the better prayer is, “Lord, this is where my sight is still blurry. Touch this too.”

Jesus can meet us in those prayers because He already knows the truth. We are not informing Him of something He missed. We are agreeing with Him in the light. We are letting Him lead us out of performance and into healing.

The world often rewards people for looking finished. Social media rewards certainty. Public life rewards confidence. Even religious spaces can sometimes make people feel pressure to wrap pain in beautiful language before they have actually processed it with God. But the private life with Jesus is different. With Him, you do not have to rush to the finished sentence. You can begin with the honest one.

“I am afraid.”

“I am tired.”

“I believe, but I need help.”

“I forgive, but I still hurt.”

“I am grateful, but I am confused.”

“I see more than before, but not clearly yet.”

Those are not faithless sentences when they are spoken to Jesus with an open heart. They may be the first clear words a blurry soul has spoken in a long time.

The man in Bethsaida teaches us that honest incompleteness is safer than false completion. If he had lied, he might have walked away with distorted sight. He might have spent the rest of his days trying to live with a miracle that had begun but not been finished. But because he told the truth, he stayed in position for the second touch.

That is a lesson worth carrying into the quiet places of our lives. Do not leave too early because you are embarrassed that you still need Jesus. Do not walk away from prayer because you think you should be further along. Do not build a life around managing the blur when Christ is willing to keep healing your sight.

Maybe the prayer today is not complicated. Maybe it is simply, “Jesus, thank You for what You have already done. I am not where I used to be. But I still do not see clearly. Please touch this place again.”

That prayer does not dishonor the first touch. It honors the One who gave it.

And the same Jesus who asked the blind man what he could see is gentle enough to ask us the same kind of question, not to expose us cruelly, but to invite us into truth. What do you see? What still looks distorted? Where has fear shaped your vision? Where has pain changed the way you read life? Where do you need another touch?

You do not have to answer perfectly.

You only have to answer honestly.

Chapter 4: The Middle Is Not the Place to Build a Home

There is a hard moment that comes after someone has made real progress, when the people around them start assuming they should be fine. The crisis is no longer fresh. The first tears have passed. The worst of the situation may be over. They are back at work, back answering messages, back cooking dinner, back doing laundry, back smiling in public when the conversation calls for it. From the outside, life appears to be moving again. But inside, they know the truth. Something has changed, but the world still does not look clear.

That can be a lonely place because the middle of healing is often misunderstood. People know how to respond to the beginning of pain. They send messages, bring food, check in, pray, and ask what happened. People also know how to celebrate a finished testimony. They love hearing that someone is healed, restored, free, and strong again. But the middle can be quiet. The middle is where the check-ins become less frequent, the old fear still visits, and the person who has made progress starts wondering why they still need help.

The blind man in Mark 8 stands right in that middle. He is no longer in complete darkness, and that matters. But he is not ready to walk through life with clear sight either. If he tried to live permanently in that condition, he would still be in danger. He might walk toward the wrong person. He might misread the road. He might move with confidence in a direction that was not safe because the shapes in front of him were not yet true. Partial sight was mercy, but it was not enough to become his home.

That is a sentence many of us need to hear. Partial healing is mercy, but it is not a place to settle forever. It is worth thanking God for every bit of progress, but gratitude for progress should not become fear of asking for more. Sometimes people stop in the middle because they feel guilty needing Jesus again. Sometimes they stop because they compare themselves to people who seem to be healing faster. Sometimes they stop because the blur has become familiar, and familiar pain can feel safer than unfamiliar freedom.

A person may get used to seeing life through suspicion. They have lived that way so long that peace feels almost irresponsible. They hear a kind word and search for the hidden motive. They receive an opportunity and look for the trap. They are invited into friendship and wait for the rejection. Their sight is not totally dark anymore. They may love God, pray sincerely, and want to grow. But the old distortion keeps shaping the way they read the room.

That is why Jesus does not leave the man halfway healed. He touches him again. The second touch tells us something about the heart of Christ. Jesus is not content with improvement when restoration is still needed. He is patient with the process, but He is not passive about the blur. He does not shame the man for being in the middle, yet He also does not bless the middle as the final place. He keeps healing.

This matters because there is a difference between accepting process and accepting defeat. Accepting process means you can be honest about where you are without hating yourself. It means you can say, “I am still healing,” without shame. It means you can thank God for progress while still admitting what remains unclear. Accepting defeat is different. Defeat says, “This is just how I will always see. This fear is my identity. This distortion is my future. This half-healed place is all I can expect.” Jesus does not speak that over the man, and we should be careful not to speak it over ourselves.

The middle can teach us humility if we stay close to Jesus. It reminds us that we are not our own healers. It slows down the pride that wants a quick and impressive recovery. It teaches us to receive mercy in layers. It helps us stop pretending that human beings are simple. The heart is deep. Pain can touch more places than we first understood. Sometimes God heals one layer, then reveals another, not to discourage us, but to bring the whole person into the light.

Think about someone carrying old family wounds. Maybe they have forgiven a parent for what was said or not said. Maybe they have stopped letting bitterness control every memory. That is real progress. But then a holiday comes, or an old tone of voice returns, or they hear someone else talk about the kind of childhood they never had, and suddenly the blur is back. They realize they are not angry like they used to be, but they are still tender in places. That does not mean forgiveness was fake. It means Jesus may still be touching deeper rooms in the soul.

The same can be true for someone healing from spiritual weariness. They may have started praying again after a long season of silence. They may be reading Scripture again, listening for God again, trying to believe that their heart can become alive again. But not every prayer feels warm. Not every morning feels clear. Some days they still feel distant. Some days they wonder if they are only going through motions. That middle can be discouraging, unless they understand that returning to God while still feeling weak may itself be part of the healing.

This is where patience becomes an act of faith. Not passive patience that does nothing, but faithful patience that keeps coming back to Jesus. It is the patience to keep praying honestly. The patience to keep making the next right choice. The patience to seek wise help when needed. The patience to let trustworthy people walk with you. The patience to stop measuring the whole miracle by today’s blur.

One of the cruelest things we can do to ourselves is demand final clarity before God has finished the work. We wake up one day with fear and say, “Nothing has changed.” But that may not be true. Maybe you did not quit this time. Maybe you asked for help sooner. Maybe you recognized the old pattern before it took over. Maybe you prayed instead of hiding. Maybe you paused before speaking. Maybe you felt the fear, but it did not rule the whole day. Those things may not feel dramatic, but they are signs of sight returning.

Jesus sees those signs. He sees the movement from darkness toward clarity. He sees the small obedience nobody else noticed. He sees when you choose honesty over performance. He sees when you bring Him the same wound again, not because you lack faith, but because you trust His mercy enough to return. He is not impatient with sincere process.

But He also loves you too much to let you make a permanent shelter in the blur. He wants you to see people as people. He wants you to see yourself through grace instead of shame. He wants you to see the Father as good, not as distant and cold. He wants you to see the future with hope, not only through the memory of what hurt you. He wants your sight restored enough that love becomes possible again, trust becomes thinkable again, and obedience becomes less clouded by fear.

So if you are in the middle, do not despise it. But do not decorate it and call it home. Let it be the place where you tell the truth, receive mercy, and stay near enough for Jesus to keep working. The middle is not proof that you are forgotten. It is not proof that the first touch failed. It is the place where the patient hands of Christ are still close, still steady, and still willing to finish what love began.

Chapter 5: Learning to See People as People Again

There is a moment in a strained relationship when one small sentence can feel larger than it is. Someone walks into the room and says, “Are you okay?” and instead of hearing care, you hear accusation. A friend takes longer than usual to respond, and instead of seeing a busy day, you see rejection. A spouse is quiet at dinner, and instead of asking what they are carrying, you start building a case in your mind. Nothing dramatic has happened yet, but the old wound has already begun translating the room for you.

That is one of the reasons the blind man’s first answer matters so much. He says he sees people, but they look like trees walking around. He is not only seeing poorly. He is seeing people incorrectly. The shapes are human, but his sight cannot yet honor them as human. They are moving in front of him, but they are not clear enough to be known rightly.

That is not just a physical detail. It reaches into the way hurt can change us. Pain can make people look like threats before we know their names. Fear can make kindness look suspicious. Rejection can make silence feel personal. Betrayal can make trust feel foolish. When the soul has learned to protect itself, it can start treating everyone like a tree in the distance instead of a person with a real heart, a real story, and real limits.

This is not something to mock. Many people learned that kind of sight honestly. They were hurt by someone who should have protected them. They were dismissed when they told the truth. They were used, lied to, embarrassed, ignored, or made to feel like their needs were a burden. After enough pain, the heart begins to scan the world for danger. It says, “Do not be naïve. Do not open too much. Do not trust too quickly. Do not let anyone close enough to hurt you like that again.”

There is wisdom in being careful with unsafe people. Jesus never asks us to become foolish. Clear sight does not mean pretending everyone is trustworthy. Some people should not have the same access to your life they once had. Boundaries can be part of healing. Distance can be part of wisdom. Forgiveness does not always mean returning to the same closeness with someone who has not changed.

But there is a difference between wisdom and distortion. Wisdom sees clearly. Distortion sees through pain and calls the blur truth. Wisdom can say, “This person has not earned trust.” Distortion says, “No one can be trusted.” Wisdom can say, “I need to move slowly.” Distortion says, “Love is always dangerous.” Wisdom protects the heart so it can remain soft. Distortion builds walls so high that even mercy has trouble getting in.

Jesus healing the blind man in stages shows us that He cares about the way we see. He does not only want us to notice movement. He wants our vision restored enough that we can live in truth. And part of that truth is learning to see people as people again.

That may sound simple, but it can be one of the hardest parts of healing. A man who has been betrayed in business may sit across from a new partner and hear danger in every question. A woman who has carried years of criticism may receive genuine praise and still feel herself bracing for the insult that usually comes next. A parent who made mistakes may watch a child pull away for an ordinary reason and immediately assume the relationship is lost forever. The blur has a way of taking pieces of the past and placing them over the faces in front of us.

When Jesus touches our sight again, He begins to separate yesterday from today. He helps us stop making every person pay for what someone else did. He teaches us to recognize the difference between a present warning and an old fear. He gives us the courage to ask, “What is actually happening here?” before we let pain answer for us.

That question can change a day. What is actually happening here? Not what am I afraid is happening. Not what happened ten years ago. Not what shame says must be happening. Not what my worst memory predicts. What is actually in front of me? Sometimes the answer may still be hard, and we may need to respond with courage. But sometimes the answer is gentler than fear told us. Sometimes the person was tired, not rejecting us. Sometimes the delay was a delay, not abandonment. Sometimes the correction was love, not contempt. Sometimes the opportunity was real, not a trap.

This kind of clarity does not make a person careless. It makes them free. They can listen without immediately defending. They can receive love without testing it to death. They can set boundaries without hatred. They can apologize without collapsing into shame. They can let people be human without turning every weakness into proof that danger is near.

Maybe this is one of the reasons Jesus led the man away from the village before healing him. The first faces he saw clearly were not the faces of the crowd demanding a result. His healing did not have to begin under public pressure. Sometimes our sight is restored best in quieter places, away from the noise of people who want us to be finished quickly. Jesus gives the man space, touch, honesty, and time.

We need that too. We need space with God where we are not performing progress for an audience. We need time to let Jesus correct what pain has taught our eyes. We need prayer that is honest enough to say, “Lord, I know this person is not the person who hurt me, but my heart is still reacting as if they are.” We need humility to admit when our vision is being shaped by old fear. We need the courage to let Christ heal not only what happened to us, but what happened inside us because of it.

There is also a softer side to this. When people stop looking like trees, compassion becomes possible again. We begin to remember that others are carrying things we cannot see. The person who seemed cold may be exhausted. The person who seemed distant may be afraid. The person who disappointed us may also be struggling with their own unfinished places. Clear sight does not excuse wrong. It simply refuses to flatten people into objects, enemies, labels, or threats.

That matters because Jesus never looked at people as objects. He saw the blind man as a man, not a project. He saw the woman at the well as a person, not a scandal. He saw Zacchaeus as a soul, not only a tax collector. He saw Peter as more than his fear and more than his failure. The clearer we see through the eyes of Christ, the less we reduce people to the worst thing we know about them.

Maybe the second touch is not only about seeing your own life more clearly. Maybe it is also about seeing other people with enough truth to love wisely. Not blindly. Not without boundaries. Not with forced closeness where trust has been broken. But with a heart that is no longer ruled by distortion.

Some of the deepest healing happens when Jesus restores our ability to see someone without immediately turning them into a symbol of our pain. That may not happen overnight. It may come slowly, conversation by conversation, prayer by prayer, pause by pause. But it is a holy kind of freedom when people become people again, when the room becomes the room again, when today becomes today again, and when the past no longer gets to stand between our eyes and everything God is still trying to show us.

The man in Bethsaida did not stay with people looking like trees. Jesus touched him again until he saw clearly. That is hope for every heart still learning how to look at life without letting fear hold the lens.

Chapter 6: The Face You Have Been Misreading

There is a moment when a person catches their reflection in a bathroom mirror and does not really look at their face. They see tired eyes, a shirt collar that needs fixing, maybe gray in the beard or lines that were not there a few years ago, but the deeper thing they see is not physical. They see the mistake they made. They see the years they think they wasted. They see the version of themselves they wish they could erase. They wash their hands, turn off the light, and walk away carrying a name Jesus never gave them.

Blurry sight does not only change how we see other people. It can change how we see ourselves. A person can be touched by Jesus, forgiven by Jesus, led by Jesus, and still look at themselves through old shame. They may believe in grace for everyone else, but when it comes to their own reflection, they still see failure first. They still see weakness first. They still see the old wound, the old sin, the old fear, the old season, the old version of themselves they are terrified might still be the truest one.

That kind of distorted sight can be hard to recognize because it often sounds humble. A person says, “I know what I am.” They say, “I do not deserve much.” They say, “God could never really use someone like me.” They think they are being honest, but sometimes they are not speaking truth. They are speaking from the blur. True humility agrees with God. Shame argues with God while pretending to be modest.

The blind man in Mark 8 needed his sight restored enough to see the world clearly. We need that too, but part of the world we need to see clearly is our own life. If Jesus is healing you, He is not only correcting how you read other people. He is also correcting how you read your own story. He is teaching you to stop using your worst chapter as your permanent name.

That does not mean we deny what happened. Christian healing is not pretending sin was not sin, pain was not pain, or damage did not matter. If we have done wrong, we should confess it. If we have hurt someone, we should take responsibility. If we have lived in patterns that broke trust, we should not cover them with pretty language. Grace does not require dishonesty. In fact, grace gives us enough safety to tell the truth.

But there is a difference between telling the truth and living under a false sentence forever. Truth says, “I sinned, and I need mercy.” Shame says, “I am only my sin.” Truth says, “I failed there, and I need to grow.” Shame says, “Failure is who I am.” Truth says, “I was wounded, and that affected me.” Shame says, “I am damaged beyond hope.” Jesus does not heal us by helping us lie. He heals us by bringing us into a deeper truth than shame can tell.

Think about someone who has carried regret for years. Maybe they lost their temper in a season when the people they loved needed gentleness. Maybe they made a decision that cost more than they understood at the time. Maybe they were absent when they should have been present. They have asked God for forgiveness, but the memory still rises at odd moments. Driving down a familiar road. Hearing a certain song. Looking at an old picture. Suddenly the past feels close again, and the reflection in the mirror looks like accusation.

That person does not need shallow encouragement. They do not need someone to say, “Just forget about it,” as if the heart works that way. They need Jesus to touch their sight again so they can see the whole truth. Not just the wrong. Not just the loss. Not just the regret. They need to see mercy. They need to see repentance as evidence of life. They need to see that grief over sin can become a doorway to humility instead of a prison of self-hatred. They need to see that God can still form love, wisdom, and tenderness in a person who has fallen.

Peter would need this kind of sight later. The same Peter who stepped onto water and started sinking would one day deny Jesus. That failure would not be a small thing. He would weep bitterly. He would have to face the terrible reality that his courage was not as strong as he thought. But the risen Jesus would not leave Peter trapped inside that one night. Jesus would restore him, speak to him, and call him forward. Peter had to learn that his failure was real, but it was not the final name over his life.

That is a hard lesson to receive when your own heart has become the courtroom. Some people keep putting themselves on trial long after they have come to Christ. They replay evidence. They rehearse what they should have said. They imagine alternate versions of their life. They punish themselves in quiet ways and call it accountability. But endless self-punishment is not the same as transformation. It may feel serious, but it does not always produce holiness. Sometimes it only keeps a person staring at the blur.

Jesus wants clearer sight than that. He wants us honest enough to repent, humble enough to change, and free enough to stop worshiping our shame. The cross is not small. The mercy of God is not fragile. The blood of Christ is not less powerful than the memory that keeps accusing you. If Jesus calls you forgiven, then at some point faith has to stop treating shame as more trustworthy than Him.

This becomes practical in ordinary life. It shows up when you receive a compliment and do not immediately reject it. It shows up when you make a mistake and correct it without calling yourself worthless. It shows up when you apologize without collapsing into despair. It shows up when you look at an old photograph and feel sorrow, but also see evidence that God has been patient with you. It shows up when you stop introducing yourself to your own mind by the thing Jesus is healing.

A person seeing themselves clearly can say, “I need grace,” without saying, “I am garbage.” They can say, “I have growing to do,” without saying, “I am hopeless.” They can say, “That was wrong,” without saying, “I can never be restored.” They can carry responsibility without carrying a false identity. That is not pride. That is receiving the truth of Christ.

For some, the blur is not only shame over what they did. It is shame over what was done to them. They carry wounds they never chose and somehow feel marked by them. They may think their pain makes them less lovable, less useful, less whole, less welcome in the presence of God. But Jesus never looked at wounded people as ruined people. He touched lepers. He welcomed the ashamed. He drew near to the grieving. He restored people others pushed aside. He did not see brokenness as the end of someone’s worth.

Maybe the prayer here is very simple: “Jesus, help me see myself the way You see me.” That prayer can feel dangerous because we may not know who we are without the old names. If we have lived for years calling ourselves failure, burden, disappointment, outsider, problem, or mistake, then grace can feel unfamiliar. But unfamiliar does not mean false. Sometimes healing feels strange because truth is entering a place where lies have lived too long.

The man in Bethsaida did not heal himself by staring harder. He needed the hands of Jesus. We do too. Clear self-understanding does not come from self-obsession. It comes from bringing the whole self into the presence of Christ and letting Him tell the truth. The truth may correct us. It may humble us. It may ask us to make things right where we can. But it will not destroy the person Jesus came to save.

So if the mirror has become a place of accusation, do not let the blur have the final word. Bring that face, that history, that regret, that wound, that old name, and that tired heart back to Jesus. Let Him touch the way you see yourself. Let Him separate conviction from condemnation. Let Him show you that being unfinished is not the same as being unloved.

You are not asked to pretend you are complete. You are invited to keep receiving the mercy that makes clear sight possible.

Chapter 7: When Jesus Finishes What Love Began

There are evenings when a person sits alone after everyone else has gone to bed and realizes they are not the same person they used to be. Not fully healed. Not fully clear. Not free from every fear. But not trapped the way they once were either. The room is quiet, and something inside them can finally admit both truths at once. Jesus has touched my life. And Jesus is still touching my life.

That is a beautiful place to stand, if we do not let shame ruin it.

The blind man in Bethsaida did not receive partial sight and get sent away to make the best of it. Jesus touched him again. The story does not end with people looking like trees. It ends with the man seeing everything clearly. That tells us something steady and kind about the heart of Christ. Jesus is not only the beginner of healing. He is the finisher. He does not bring light into darkness and then lose interest when the work becomes slow, personal, and layered.

Some of us need that truth because we have been quietly afraid that the unfinished parts of us are proof that God has grown tired. We know He helped us before. We know He opened our eyes in ways we cannot deny. We know we are not living in the same darkness we once lived in. But when the old fear returns, when the old wound speaks, when the old habit pulls, when the old sadness sits down beside us again, we start wondering if this is all there will ever be.

That is when we need to remember the second touch.

The second touch tells us that Jesus is not embarrassed by process. He is not impatient with honest need. He is not offended when a person says, “I can see more than before, but I still do not see clearly.” That sentence may feel weak to us, but it is often the exact truth Jesus can keep healing.

A person recovering from spiritual weariness may understand this. They may have started praying again, but prayer still feels quiet. They may have opened the Bible again, but some mornings the words feel close and other mornings they feel far away. They may want fire, but what they have is a small candle. That small candle matters. It may not be the full blaze they hoped for, but it is still light. Jesus does not despise it. He can keep breathing life into it.

A person rebuilding after deep hurt may understand it too. They may have stopped living in constant anger, but trust still feels hard. They may have forgiven as an act of obedience, but their heart still needs time to become soft again. They may want to love without fear, but fear still asks questions before love can relax. That does not mean healing is fake. It means the second touch is still welcome.

There is no shame in needing Jesus again.

That may be one of the clearest lessons in this whole story. We do not graduate beyond needing His hand. We do not become so spiritually mature that we stop bringing Him the blurry places. The Christian life is not a performance of finished strength. It is a life of returning to Christ, receiving from Christ, listening to Christ, and letting Him keep restoring what we could never restore by ourselves.

The man did not force clarity into his own eyes. He did not heal himself by trying harder to see. He stood close enough to Jesus to receive what only Jesus could give. That matters because many people are exhausting themselves trying to manufacture healing. They read more, work more, think more, explain more, plan more, and push harder. Some of those things can be useful in the right place, but the soul still needs the living touch of Christ. Clear sight is not something we can pressure ourselves into. It is something we receive as we stay honest before Him.

That does not mean we do nothing. It means we stop pretending we are the source of our own restoration. We still choose truth. We still seek wisdom. We still apologize where needed. We still set boundaries where needed. We still get help where needed. We still take the next faithful step. But underneath all of that, we remember that Jesus is the healer. We cooperate with grace. We do not replace it.

And when the man finally sees clearly, I wonder what the first clear sight felt like. Faces no longer looked like trees. The world had edges again. People had eyes, expressions, movement, detail. The ground was not just a blur beneath him. The light was not just brightness without shape. Everything that had been distorted was now being received in truth.

That is what Jesus wants for us too. Not only enough sight to survive. Clearer sight to love. Clearer sight to forgive. Clearer sight to walk wisely. Clearer sight to stop calling fear wisdom. Clearer sight to stop calling shame humility. Clearer sight to stop calling the past our permanent home. Clearer sight to see God as Father, Jesus as Savior, the Spirit as Helper, and our lives as still held inside mercy.

Maybe you are not there yet. Maybe today still feels blurry. Maybe you can name progress, but you cannot yet name peace. Maybe you can see some light, but the future still looks uncertain. Maybe you know Jesus has touched you, but you are still asking Him to touch the way you see your family, your calling, your pain, your own reflection, or God Himself.

Bring that to Him.

Do not walk away with the blur just because you are grateful for the first touch. Gratitude and desire can live together. You can say, “Thank You, Jesus, for how far You have brought me,” and also say, “Please keep healing what still is not clear.” That is not ungrateful. That is trust.

Trust believes Jesus is good enough to begin the work and patient enough to finish it.

This is why the story matters so much for ordinary people. It gives room for the real middle of life. It speaks to the one who is trying again after falling. It speaks to the one who believes, but still feels weak. It speaks to the one who has changed, but still has old patterns to surrender. It speaks to the one who is tired of pretending the healing is complete when the heart knows there are still blurry places.

Jesus does not ask you to lie about your vision.

He asks you to stay with Him.

There is a quiet strength in that. Stay with Him when the healing feels slow. Stay with Him when the old fear talks. Stay with Him when you are embarrassed that you still need help. Stay with Him when others do not understand the process. Stay with Him when the first touch has brought light, but not yet full clarity. Stay with Him long enough to learn that the hands of Christ do not abandon unfinished people.

The world may rush you. Shame may accuse you. Fear may tell you to settle. But Jesus still stands near the blurry place with mercy in His hands.

So do not quit in the middle of the miracle.

Do not call the blur your identity.

Do not turn partial sight into your permanent expectation.

Tell Jesus the truth, receive what He has already done, and keep trusting Him for what is still being restored. The same Lord who took the blind man by the hand is able to lead you gently. The same Lord who heard the honest answer is able to hear yours. The same Lord who touched him again is still willing to keep healing the places in you that cannot see clearly yet.

You may be unfinished, but you are not abandoned.

You may still need another touch, but you are not a disappointment.

You may not see everything clearly today, but Jesus is still close.

And when Jesus keeps His hand on a life, the blur does not get the final word.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph Watch Douglas Vandergraph inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph Support the Christian encouragement library through GoFundMe: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-douglas-vandergraph-build-a-christian-encouragement-lib Support the daily work by buying Douglas a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Not really the type to write about this kind of thing. usually i’d rather pretend i don’t care and move on with my day like some emotionally evolved adult but unfortunately, that plan keeps getting interrupted. and i sometimes hate finding things out, not because they’re necessarily bad, but because once you see them, you can’t unsee them. then you’re just sitting there trying to figure out whether you’re overthinking, underthinking, or just making a complete idiot of yourself. i was told not to doubt, and i won’t. simple as that. but that doesn’t mean every little thing feels good to see. maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, maybe there’s nothing to explain in the first place. either way i’m not interested in creating stories in my head just because my thoughts got bored. still, some things just sit in your chest longer than they should and that’s all it is. i won’t doubt. i won’t assume. i won’t think otherwise, no matter how much my heart seems determined to tear itself apart over things it doesn’t fully understand. you know, maybe it’s nothing. probably nothing. still doesn’t stop that stupid feeling in my stomach for a few minutes.

Anyway. i’m sure this is all very normal. thats why im writing about it here at this hour instead of sleeping. clearly a sign of a stable and well-managed mind.

and before any fuck ass dipshit starts celebrating, no, i’m not crying over this. my chest just feels like it got hit by a truck for no reason. completely different thing.

Just shut the fuck up im not drunk or crying.

[This is not advertising or an endorsement or a disavowal of any products or services, I'm just writing about the stuff I use.]

I recently wrote about the stuff this blog is made of; my domain registrar, platform, and email service respectively. In that spirit I want to write about the other stuff I've been using lately and how I arrived at the process I currently have. Over the years I've used so many different kinds of writing software, and I've gone from Windows to Mac and back. I mention this because it's relevant to the topic of writing software.

So like, in summary to be expanded on some other time, I was a PC person from the early 90s up until the XP era in the early aughts. And then the iPhone 3GS came out. I liked it so much that when my computer died, I got Mac and almost exclusively used Mac hardware products up until about three years ago when I took a spreadsheet class. The experience of Excel on a Windows machine was so superior to the experience on a Mac, I switched back. Throughout it all, I've been, and still am an iPhone person. As far as my position on this stuff goes, everybody should use whatever makes them happy. I don't think one is better than the other. Windows machines are more versatile. Macs are more secure. Linux is the most socially conscious.

Anyway, at different times over the years, some pieces of software were not available on whichever platform I was using, or the software was and, in some cases, still is, just better on one over the other. I experimented with Google Docs, IA Writer, Notability, Apple Notes, Google Keep, Scrivener, Microsoft Word, Microsoft OneNote, and a slew of others... Which resulted in me having a lot of writing scattered across a slew of formats. Unless I saw something through from beginning to completion in a short amount of time, it got filed away and forgotten about. I still got a buncha stuff all over the place but moved most of the important stuff to Word/Docx.

I decided when I made the switch back to PC that I would serve myself better becoming proficient at Word and Google Docs since Microsoft Office and Google Workspace are what most of the business world uses and given my making a habit of using Excel for more things instead of a bazillion different apps and services doing what a spreadsheet can do but prettier, I decided on Word. But more importantly I decided to pick one piece of writing software and stick with it exclusively. Until a couple of days ago.

My blog host is just too awesome. The CMS just works too great for markdown and uploading photos from a browser, and Word, well, doesn't do that as well. So I started out drafting in Word, and due to the friction (best word for it I can think of) I developed the bad habit of drafting directly into the CMS and publishing there... And the other day I caught myself not copy/pasting it into a Word Document and saving it immediately. I realized I need to add a little friction. Speed is nice, but the process is just too fast and I want this stuff to have a little friction to it, but not so much that it's a pain in the ass. Drafting markdown in Word is a little bit of a pain in the ass. So I was like 'What's a good markdown editor (one that isn't the CMS of write.as)?' and I've heard good things about Obsidian, but then I remembered IA Writer. I remembered the inventor of markdown really likes the iOS version so rather than try out a new thing, let me download the thing I already had but for Windows this time and see if I still like it. And, I do! I'm writing this in IA Writer right now, and I can export to Word with one click! And upon testing, it exports with all the styling looking as it's supposed to in Word.

So now I have the best of all three worlds; A place to draft for the blog that isn't the blog itself, a way to save it in .md and in .docx quickly, and the place to share it, and with just the right amount of friction to the process.

That's all for now.

-Ira

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. pause and rest.

In Summary: * Got my weekly laundry all done today as I should, it being Monday. And I exercised prudence in avoiding any yard work. Though it didn't rain today, the heat and humidity is brutal, pushing the heat index over 100 degrees by mid-morning. We'll see what I decide about the yard work tomorrow.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 239.97 lbs. * bp= 159/91 (67)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:00 – 1 banana * 05:30 – big HEB Bakery cookie * 06:15 – 1 ham and cheese sandwich * 12:00 – hash browns, sausage and egg breakfast taco, cole slasw, breaded pork chop * 15:00 – chocolate chip cookies

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:40 – bank accounts activity monitored. * 04:50 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap * 10:00 – started my weekly laundry * 11:45 to 13;45 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:00 – watching old episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger while folding laundry * 17:00 – listening to the Texas Rangers Pregame Show ahead of tonight's game vs the Miami marlins.

Chess: * 11:30 – moved in all pending CC games

Rangers vs Marlins.

Tuned in now to 105.3 The Fan, DFW's #1 Sports Station for pregame sports talk ahead of tonight's MLB Game, the Texas Rangers vs the Miami Marlins. The opening pitch is nearly an hour away. I'll stay here for the radio call of the game as broadcast over MLB's Gameday Service.

And the adventure continues.

17 June 2026

Support (working title): some Courbet colors—Self-Portrait with a Black Dog (1842-44)—isolated and repurposed for this painting based on a lounger and a leaf that I saw outside a window with Yena in Lido. I remember the pillowy cushion bending to the empty weight of dried foliage.

I think the main organizing factory/inquiry with this one was trying to achieve a simultaneity of receding and confronting (in feeling and space), but I also ended up with something of an echo or a mirror. And a lesson in line. Worth noting to self that, as exemplified in the process for this one, I’m noticing how much more I seem to be working things out ahead of time in the drawing phase now. Of course there’s a certain (large) portion that needs to remain unknown before I begin painting to make it worth doing, but I’m also realizing more and more that I still feel fulfilled when the surprises happen earlier in my sketchbook. I suppose the most satisfying is when they happen in both phases.

Anyway, I think this one is asking some worthwhile questions and gave a good shot at fragmenting them further, but I think the color is a bit too binary still. So I think the next problem to solve has something to do with combining this more dynamic approach to line with a more interesting/nuanced/subtle approach to color so that they’re complementing each other rather than merely coexisting and the whole thing can reach a harmony that extends beyond the kinetic further into silence.

15 June 2026

Image inventory: a jagged wet reflection of a plane on a tarmac, collapsed and dismembered mannequins in an abandoned shop front window display, a group of pigeons on a sidewalk (half in light, half in shade), a marshmallow-looking lounge chair, two white doors loosely bolted together (one with covered-up graffiti in a block of gray), a phone booth with etched graffiti, a dog blurred and lunging towards a hand, dried yellow mimosa flowers on a nightstand (small dead explosion), a sliver of blue sky between two terracotta buildings with laundry lines, a white rectangle building floating on top of a full frame of ocean water, a dark cloud that looks like a face in profile over a small fluffy luminous cloud, a reflection of train seats, a small concrete sphere balancing on a brick ledge, two boats speeding through a canal towards a horizon, contrails shooting upwards out of two cut tree branches, a small red home and a small white bridge from above, rain drops in black water, wood grain three ways, pastel colored ceramic bowls at varying heights on a wood floor with dappled light, ivies encroaching on an upturned table, a yellow lost cat sign (name: Falco), shells organized by color (mostly whites and gray-blues) on a beach.

Is it only the UK or is the rest of Europe also displaying a short shorts trend? That and tight leggings. I guess the leggings were the hype a number of years ago and is still going strong but the rise of shorts seems to be taking over.

Everywhere I go, regardless of setting or temperature, there is a lass wearing shorts. And not just the ordinary type, but the type that ride up and through, presenting that glorious view of the lower cheeks.

I write this post with a level of hypocrisy. My girlfriend is one of these girls. Infact, I like to tell myself she's an 'OG' shorts wearer. She is always wearing her shorts, granted it's not usually the ass crack type, but the tight leggings shorts. And yes, I catch all your pervs catching a look. Whether we are outside, shopping, picking our kids up from school.. nothing can restrain the wandering eye of a straight male these days. I'm not complaining of course.. gawk all you want fellas!

However, I have to make a point whilst we're on topic, who are these parents letting their young children wear such attire. It was not long ago I turned an isle in Aldi and saw a girl, roughly 12, wearing the short shorts that rode so high her whole bottom was on display. I nudged my partner to see and we both gave a look of disbelief. It was a father shopping with his daughter. Surely, as a man, you know how this looks? How other men might perv on such a view? I'm confused about what angle the father took when he allowed his daughter to leave the house dressed like such.

Back in 2013, my elder daughter was in the improv group in her high school. The co-captain of the improv team was a girl named Ayo Edebiri.

So I’ve seen Ayo Edebiri perform live on stage many times, though, before Sunday, it was only in high school improv shows. I joked before we went to see Proof that the fact that we’d seen her in so many high school improv shows surely meant that Ayo should comp us some tickets to her broadway debut.

(I should point out that she and my daughter were friendly but not close, and I think Ms. Edebiri could probably pick my daughter out in a crowd but certainly not me or my wife.)

Anyway, so we were excited to see Proof, and I knew very little about it except that Ayo (because we’re all on a parasocial first name basis with her in our house) and Don Cheadle were in it.

There are summaries in other places, but this is a play about family and mental illness and what we owe each other. It’s got a lot of funny moments but is ultimately serious, and folks, Ayo Edibiri’s performance is absolutely stunning.

Because there are a few flashback scenes, we see what the character of Catherine was like before spending four years tending to a father with serious mental illness. And so the actor playing Catherine has to whip back and forth between hopeful and enthusiastic and beaten down and nearly broken, and Ayo pulled this off brilliantly. It really was a breathtaking performance. Awards of course don’t mean anything, and the only other show I’ve seen in New York in the last year was Bigfoot the Musical (which was utterly delightful but of course very different) but I am incredulous that she hasn’t been recognized for this performance.

I read some reviews, and it seemed like a lot of critics were reviewing their own response to the 2000 production rather than this production.

Except of course by the audience, which absolutely roared at her curtain call. All the actors (Cheadle, Jin Ha, and Kara Young) gave good performances, but the play asks much more of the actor playing Catherine, and Ayo absolutely killed it.

(I’m trying to work on not being mean, but I did go to YouTube to look at Gwyneth Paltrow’s performance in the movie. And it’s…a lot of yelling. Without being too mean to Her Goopness, let me just say it’s a performance that’s not even in the same league as the one I saw on Sunday. And she presumably had multiple takes!)

The only quibble I had was with the play itself because “character seeing and talking to a dead loved one” was a hoary cliché when the play premiered in 2000, and it’s fundamentally a lie about grief because the hard thing about grief is the dead person’s sudden and complete absence from your life.

But that’s not the fault of this production, which is fantastic.

The family at the center of the story is played by Black actors, and this didn’t really have an impact on my interpretation of the story, but you know what it did affect? The composition of the audience. I don’t go to a ton of Broadway shows, but I know that the conventional “wisdom” is that people of color don’t really go to high-profile Broadway plays like this. Well, they certainly do if you cast fantastic actors of color in lead roles! I’m just sayin’!

Today we’re having an iced tea, and before you start questioning my drink choices. at least im not drinking a pissed drink and by that i mean coffee. and by we i meant me and i only. Not the fancy hot tea cup as always because im feeling like a fire flame with the weather these days. And I love it. i have nothing to talk about which is clear from the way i started this. talking about ice tea. but something about today wasn’t normal. i slept while i was showering and had that dream again. the ghost woman with her navy dress. i woke up in a bath full of my own blood, which was unpleasant to deal with, considering I don’t remember earning any injuries, but it was just her with her gun again or whatever she had this time. i dont know if she wants to leave me alive or to suffocate me slowly. and ive never ever slept while i was showering, guess that would be an interesting note to tell my therapist. havent mentioned the navy dressed woman to her would definitely have me into a new pill recipe or whatever.

I got gifted White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky. not my usual type of book, which is obvious from the fact that nobody appears to be dead. Still, i'll give it a chance. stranger things have happened to me than reading a book i wouldn't normally pick.

Sincerely, Ahmed

Any non Brits want to know what it is like living in the UK right now? You woke up a few days ago to find this guy called Andy Burnham all over every news stream. Who is this guy? Why has every-single-fucking news station started glorifying this guy? Not even my friends, family, coworkers or the guy walking his dog knows who he is.

A couple days pass and our pathetic excuse of a PM has decided to resign. You know, the guy who swore he would fight to the very end only a week or two ago? Yes.. he's quit. And now all talks are about Burnham replacing him. Excuse me, what?

Welcome to the drama show of United Kingdom politics. It is like they don't even hide it anymore.

Photos of two leading U.S. political figures are now available for download from the TechNewsLit portfolio at the Alamy photo agency, former vice-president Mike Pence, top, and Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont. (Sort on “most recently uploaded” to quickly find the newer photos.)

Pence, who served as V.P. during Donald Trump’s first term, spoke to a full house at the National Press Club on 15 June about his conservative philosophy. He says that philosophy traces directly back to 1964 Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater and the later presidency of Ronald Reagan.

Pence says he spells out that history in his new book, “What Conservatives Believe: Rediscovering the Conservative Conscience”, on display during his National Press Club talk. Yet he barely mentioned his key role on 6 Jan. 2021 that allowed the electoral college process to play out and certify the election of Joe Biden as president, despite Trump’s demands and audible threats from rioters storming the Capitol.

Sanders, officially an independent who caucuses with Democrats in the Senate, spoke to another full house at National Press Club on 8 June. He gave his now-familiar stump speech reflecting his self-described socialist philosophy, pointing out the damage caused by growing economic inequality in the U.S. and continuing need for universal, single-payer health care.

In his talk and later Q&A, Sanders described proposed legislation to create a sovereign wealth fund with proceeds from a 50 percent stake in artificial intelligence or A.I. companies, which he justifies as payments for the companies using materials without permission copyrighted by the U.S. government, to train their algorithms. He also introduced legislation calling for a moratorium on new data centers that provide processing power for A.I., until stronger safeguards are in place.

In both the Pence and Sanders appearances, the speakers were interviewed by CBS News correspondent Robert Costa. Photos of Costa and Punchbowl News co-founder Jake Sherman are also recently added to the TechNewsLit collection of media and business leaders.

Copyright © Technology News and Literature. All rights reserved.

When I was a kid, my neighbour and I found a goat carcass in the forest.

It’d been picked clean revealing the white skull which we brought back home to my grandmother

We wanted to show it to her

Apparently it was one of her dead goats she’d pulled into the forest herself,

And we’d pulled it back, (partially)

Probably it couldn’t be buried properly in the frozen grounds, and there was no room in the freezer

She really loved her goats.

I didn’t think about it being one of her goats, it was just a skull with horns and teeth

I don’t remember how she reacted when she saw it or why we did it, but I remember the pungent stench of death on my mittens

They threw them away

The UK is currently up in arms over the rape gang enquiry – 250,000+ women and girls as young as 11 have been systemically raped by mostly Pakistani Muslim gangs. What can I say? As a white British man with kids and rather conservative views, you might be surprised to hear my reaction is not deport, deport, deport...

I have strong alignment with what JD Vance recently said on The Diary of a CEO which is, fast immigration is never a good thing. Not enough time to assimilate, adapt, build relations, supply jobs, supply care etc. Correct immigration takes time and especially needs time to adjust for the culture shift. Now I'm not exactly pro immigration, as I said, I'm quite conservative, but I can't stand the narrative that every Muslim is partaking in some nation wide raping – especially when the enquiry clearly highlights the British support and health services equally to blame!

I do believe the 'Pakistani' factor is at play more over the 'Muslim' factor. I have met many Muslims and I think every single one was nothing but pleasant with me. More so than the English. So much so that when I came to faith in a higher power, I first turned to Islam because of how well the Muslims treated me day-to-day. I did however become Christian for reasons I can tell another day. The point is, I don't think Muslims are this plague of raping monsters which some media personalities seem to suggest.

I will admit that I think our nation has lost it's identity. Call it consequences of the middle east wars or the woke agenda but, it is safe to say that England has lost it's identity and it feels Muslim communities are filling that identity. I don't think Muslims are “taking over” but I do think their sense of community is becoming so vast that English people feel threatened. Every nation should have an identity and if it is lost then something will replace it.

Regardless, the people who partook in these crimes and especially the ones in power who knew but did nothing need to face the full swing of the law – my hopes on that matter are minimal to be truthful.