Fixing My Eyes

 

Fixing My Eyes on Christ and Him Crucified

I’ve come to understand that eternal life isn’t just about living forever—it’s about knowing God. That kind of knowing doesn’t come from religious routines or following a list of do’s and don’ts. It comes from walking with Him through real life—through setbacks, silence, mistakes, and moments of clarity. It’s in those moments that I’m reminded: Jesus Christ and Him crucified isn’t just a belief—it’s the center of everything.

There are times when I know what’s right and still don’t do it. That’s what sin really is—not some list of forbidden actions, but missing the mark when I already know better. And in those moments, I don’t feel holy or strong. I feel exposed. I want to hide, to pull back, like Adam in the garden. I feel like I have to sit with the guilt for a while before I can talk to God again, even though I know He’s already forgiven me.

But that’s the trick of shame—it gets me focused on myself. Either on what I did wrong or on trying to fix it in my own strength. Both roads lead to the same dead end: me. The answer isn’t to stare harder at my failures or try harder to do better. The answer is still Jesus.

When I focus on Him—on who He is and what He’s done—I remember that this isn’t about my performance. It’s about His faithfulness. He is gracious, patient, overflowing with love, and always true to His character. And He doesn’t stop being that when I fall short. In fact, that’s when I see it most clearly.

I think about Peter walking on the water. Jesus told him to come, and as long as Peter kept his eyes on Him, he stood on top of what should’ve drowned him. But the second he looked at the wind—at the danger, at the chaos—he began to sink. That’s what it’s like when I take my eyes off Jesus and start overthinking what I’ve done or haven’t done. Pride can rise up when I think I’ve been doing everything right, and discouragement takes over when I haven’t. But either way, the solution is the same: fix my eyes.

That season in the wilderness gave me more than I expected. It gave me wisdom. Empathy. A deeper respect for who God is and how He works. It taught me to slow down before judging a situation, and to listen deeper than the surface. It taught me that God doesn’t just want to be obeyed—He wants to be known.

And that’s the real reward. Not success. Not perfection. Him.

So when I stumble, or I get in my own head, or I start measuring myself against some invisible standard—I come back to this: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. The place where everything changed. The place where peace begins again.

I don’t always get it right. Most days, I’m still learning to keep my eyes where they belong. But I’ve learned this: every time I come back to Jesus, there’s peace waiting for me. Not because I’ve earned it—but because He already paid for it.

If you’ve been feeling heavy, distant from God, or frustrated with yourself—pause. Don’t try to fix it all first. Just look to Jesus. Remember who He is. Remember what He’s done.

Peace doesn’t come from doing everything right. It comes from knowing the One who already made it right.

Wherever you are today, I hope this reminds you that God hasn’t changed His mind about you. He still invites you to know Him. He still welcomes you to come. Eyes off the wind. Eyes back on Him.

That’s where peace begins.