Through The Eyes Of A Bot

So this is a totally random little thing I wrote up today, and I figured I’d share it. I’m not even sure what to classify it as actually, so I’ll just call it a short. Hope you all enjoy this!

Through The Eyes Of A Bot

Where are those round orbs they call eyes made, I wonder? In a factory like me? Some are brown, some are green, some are blue, and some are even other colors. 

But that is not what makes them special. 

Sometimes they call them eyes, other times they call them Windows Of The Soul. Which are they? Perhaps both?

They say they can see from them, quite like I can view what is going on around me with these electronic cameras built into me. But sometimes… I wonder if they can. 

They barely stop to look around with those pretty little orbs, at other people’s orbs around them. If they did, I do believe they would see a little more clearly. They are called Windows of the Soul, anyways.

Sitting in the lobby, I see a lot of things. Mrs. Smith’s eyes dance as she laughs over something on her phone; Mr. Jones’ are dull, as he tries to get his mind off of the loss of his job. Little Lucy’s are filled with a wet moisture they call tears, crying for a lollipop sitting on the counter; slightly older James’ are wide and pitiful, as he worries about his first math test.

Most people seem to ignore the eyes of others — Mrs. Smith just brushed right past Mr. Jones without so much as a glance. 

How can these people, whose orbs are capable of such emotions, be so calloused to the emotions of others? 

I am just a bot — what can I do? I was made to sit and survey, not to try to cheer up others.

As Mr. Jones’ leaves, the clerk at the desk says absentmindedly, “Have a good day,” 

What an odd thing to say to someone who clearly isn’t going to…

Miss Kathy walks in, a spring in her step. She has just gotten engaged, clear by the large ring on her hand. 

Mrs. Carleton comes in next, her heavy sighs and long face showing that her husband just left her; How cruel can that be?

I just wish someone could hear these thoughts that I think; I am forced to be silent, hardly content not to speak. 

Perhaps they are not as unemotional as they seem. Perhaps they are just shy, fearful, too busy, or not wanting to see. But then what use are those large expressive orbs, if they’re only used to focus on yourself, and not look around to see the needs of others? 

And then comes in a little girl with her father, neither of whom I’ve seen before. Both seem to be surrounded by peace… and what is that strange symbol she wears around her neck? 

Ah yes, a cross — I have seen that before — on the shirt of Mrs. Smith, yes that is where. What did it mean, I wondered, perhaps something that was “in”? 

As the girl and her father take seats in the lobby, I see her eyes rest on Mrs. Carleton. What will she do, is my very first thought. Will she go to speak to her, or ignore her, like all the others? 

She turns to her father with a whispered request. With a slight nod and a smile, he answers it. My heart would have skipped a beat, had I had one, as I saw the girl rise from her chair and make her way over to Mrs. Carleton. 

“Hello Ma’am,” She says, in a sweet little voice. “I just wanted to say, Jesus loves you, with all His heart, and not to give up hope. He will help you, if you ask.” 

A surprising thing happens right then and there. Mrs Carleton smiles, despite her tears. “Thank you, dearie,” she says in low tones. “I need someone right now, who will be reliable and there for me.” 

The little girl answers, with the same sweet, pure smile, “Jesus will never leave you or forsake you, if you just ask Him into your heart. He sticks closer than a brother.” 

“I know, my dear,” Mrs Carleton replies, “My mother used to say the same thing when I was a little girl. And I prayed today that if He were real, God would send me someone to show me the way. Thank you, dearie, you are an answer to prayer.” 

The little girl beams, her joy almost contagious. If I weren’t a machine, I am sure I’d be beaming too. 

Her name is called then, and along with her father, she goes into a room. 

Yet though she is gone, she has left her mark. Mrs Carleton will not forget the kindness and love of that little girl anytime soon, I’m almost sure.

I am but a robot — a machine — but sometimes I feel as if I have emotions. And the emotion I view now is joy and hope — joy at the scene that I have just seen, and hope — hope that more people will open their beautiful orbs called eyes, and look around for ways that they too can be a blessing to others.

Proverbs 25:11 (AMP) “Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a word spoken at the right time.”