This is not Magic Eye Jesus. In fact, I have no idea what image is hidden beneath these colors, because of course, I can’t see it.
“I can’t see it,” I sigh, slowly pulling the card away from my face, my eyes trained on the blurred image. “It’s there,” says my husband, “you just have to look beyond the actual picture.”
I’m attempting to see Jesus buried in the 3-D Magic Eye postcard my kids brought home from Sunday school. I’ve tried eight times, and so far, I see nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Hold the front of this postcard right up to your nose,” the directions state. “Then very slowly move it away from your face. Try not to blink. A 3D hidden image will magically appear.”
I try again, this time drawing the postcard away even more slowly.
Nothing.
“Try it in better light,” Brad suggests. I hover under a lamp, bring the card to my nose, draw it slowly away from my face again.
Nothing. And now I have a headache.
… I’m over at Prodigal Magazine, writing about what it feels like when you can’t see Jesus and it seems like everyone else can. Meet me over there?
