God works in mysterious ways; I've heard it all my life,But truly, I couldn't see it until I couldn't see, Until the nearest chalkboard was never near enough to read. In second grade my teacher knew there was something wrong with me,  When she came to check my math warm-up and found short written essays,Confused, she asked me why, and I said, I'sn't that what the overhead says?
                 So from the tender age of seven I've worn glasses of growing sizes, And as the years progressed I've won more expensive prizes, And soon at my annual check ups there came a humorous routine,Where the eye exam began with jumping and waving arms, The doctor always asking, Can you see me? Can you see me?
                   Oh, what a horrible curse! Without glasses, simple things are fettered, At first it was only mild; a number only becoming a letter,But then it would get worse before glasses made it better,  It became so bad a door was blended in with the  wall,And an open door was lucky if I  missed the frame at all. But glasses! Such a marvelous blessing! With circular aids to help me, it became so much easier dressing! I could distinguish between a shirt and pants, and put on matching socks, Living in this century definitely rocks! But the greatest part of all is the moment every year,  Where I get to update my prescription, obtain a slightly thicker lens,  And see the world anew, and rejoice in every color. I marvel at the trees, rejoicing that I see the leaves.
              I  watch in fascination the busy worker bee,Celebrating each speck of pollen that I can finally see.And certain concepts become easier through this hindering handicap,Faith, an abstract concept to all my friends with perfect sight, Is a concrete fact of life as common as day and night. I have faith everyday that the door is in front of my bed,(Actually, I've only hit the frame once, with the center of my forehead,) I have faith that the white shampoo is on the white rack on the wall,  Just as I have faith that the Lord will save us all.

             It only stands to reason, to my humble way of thinking,

That I'm not the only one that is left blindly blinking, The entire human race is blind to miracles from God, To the manifesting  power that comes from holding the iron rod. I might fail to see the roses and the patterns in the sky,  But will the human race remain in dark and mystery, To the blooming mercy and the revelations from on high?