Editorial July 19, 1993 Issue

Spiritual discernment and God's creation

Mark Swinney

This is the way I might describe a friend of mine: this individual is most satisfied when he's helping people, especially ones who haven't had much opportunity and need more confidence. He likes streams, rivers, and lakes. He tries to listen to everyone, even when he disagrees with what is being said. His best effort is the only effort he knows. He likes caramel-coated popcorn. He laughs at himself until he has to wipe his eyes. He remembers a lot of details and facts that are very important to him. His dedication to his chosen field is so strong you can feel it glowing warmly when you look in his face.

Although the impression you have of this person is only partial, he might sound something like one of your own friends. The world around us is full of people—people of every description. Identity cards and driver's licenses tell their height, weight, hair color, and eye color. People we know well, though, are much more to us than that. You'll notice there was none of that information in the description of my friend. Yet, you know considerably more about him than if you'd been told only his vital statistics.

It's possible to look at people—or even yourself—through eyes that don't see man mixed in with anything material. In a world entranced by body, musculature, physical beauty—and the eating habits, exercise machines, plastic surgery, anxiety, and disappointment that go with them—it's good to stretch, to change our view, and see people's true, spiritual nature.

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