Keep Your Eyes on Your Feet

The disciple found St. Charbel at his work, his hands moving steadily, his lips barely stirring, his eyes resting upon the ground as though the earth itself were an icon to be venerated. The air around him seemed gathered into prayer.

Disciple: Father, I have been thinking much about my life. I feel the weight of the world pressing upon my heart. There is so much suffering, so many causes that demand attention. I fear that my life is too small, too hidden, to matter.

St. Charbel did not lift his gaze. He finished the task given to him, crossed himself slowly, and only then spoke, softly, as one who does not wish to disturb the silence that feeds him.

St. Charbel: Cast your eyes down, my son. Look at your feet. Your meaning is not in a grand plan for humanity, but in the person God has placed before you this very hour.

Disciple: But Father, should we not desire to do something great for God? To change the world, to leave something behind?

St. Charbel smiled, though the disciple could sense it more than see it.

St. Charbel: The world is not saved by noise. It is saved by holiness. When a man tries to grasp the whole world, he usually loses his own soul in the attempt. God does not ask you to carry humanity on your shoulders. That burden has already been borne upon the Cross.

He paused, his fingers resting on the worn wood before him.

St. Charbel: Abba Moses once said, “Sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” Your cell today may not be a room of stone. It may be a kitchen, a street, a sickbed, or a conversation you would rather avoid. If you flee from this place, seeking a greater one, you flee from God’s visitation.

Disciple: Yet my heart feels restless. I imagine paths not taken, futures where I might have done more, become more.

St. Charbel: Restlessness is often pride dressed in sorrow. The enemy loves to keep the heart in tomorrow or yesterday, anywhere but here. Here is the only place where obedience can be lived, where love can be proven.

He lowered his head further, as if listening inwardly.

St. Charbel: I learned this in silence. When you stand before God in prayer, He does not ask you how many souls you saved. He asks whether you allowed Him to save yours. St. Isaac the Syrian said that a humble man is a treasury of mysteries. Humility does not seek to explain itself. It remains where it is placed.

Disciple: Father, how do I know what God wants of me in this moment?

St. Charbel: Look again at your feet. They are standing where obedience has placed you. Look at your hands. They have been given something to do, however small. Look at the person before you. In that face is hidden Christ Himself.

He lifted his eyes briefly, just enough for the disciple to see their gentleness, then lowered them again.

St. Charbel: Elder Aimilianos said that God hides His will in the present moment. If you accept it without complaint, it becomes a sacrament. If you reject it, you search the heavens and find nothing.

Disciple: And if the task feels insignificant?

St. Charbel: Then you are close to the Kingdom. God loves to dwell where man sees no value. I swept floors, tilled soil, endured illness, and prayed in darkness. None of this seemed important. Yet in such poverty, God found room to enter.

Disciple: Father, I fear being forgotten.

St. Charbel: To be forgotten by the world is a great mercy. To be remembered by God is enough. When you bow your head, heaven bends toward you.

The saint returned fully to his work, prayer flowing through him as breath through the lungs.

St. Charbel: Go now, my son. Do not search for a mission. Receive the one already given. Love the person before you. Pray where you stand. Remain hidden. God sees. That is sufficient.

The disciple left quietly, his eyes lowered, his steps slower, as though the ground beneath him had become holy.