Title: Blind Man's Vision

By: C Cawthorne

Author notes: (1) Nothing in Supernatural belongs to me. This is for fun and not monetary profit — the only profit I receive is sharpening my writing skills. Oh, and feedback! Feedback is good, and valuable, and nice:)

(2) Another Faith ficlet. Yes, I love that episode. Almost all the dialog is from the episode, notwritten by me— I only wrote a few lines for Roy and Sue Anne. The scripture reference is Psalm 28.

Roy Le Grange had always been a good judge of character. It wasn't something he took pride in, since he'd always tried to avoid pride. That deadly sin had a powerful manner of destroying all sorts of good people, and preachers were in particular danger of its seductive wiles.

No, he didn't have pride in his judgment, but he did possess quiet confidence in it. Even before, when he'd been just a small-time preacher with a tiny flock, he'd been able to discern who among those looking for grace truly wanted it. Back then he'd done it by looking at them, looking into their eyes, and the Lord permitted him to see through their defenses and shields right into their hearts.

Going blind changed all that — no more seeing into people's souls, no more seeing at all. But even after He took that gift away, the Lord replaced it with not one but three miracles.

The first miracle — his unexpected cure — did not return his sight, but Roy never complained. No, he accepted it with a peace that surprised his doctors, as well as the counselor they sent to speak with him. But what was vision to life, to the chance to lead more souls to salvation, to unexpected years with Sue Anne? No, the Lord had worked a miracle, and he was grateful.

Then he'd discovered the healing power of his hands. That was a gift worth any sacrifice. A second miracle, a humbling blessing — something he gave thanks for every day even as he wondered at being chosen, being anointed by God.

The third miracle came subtly, like the whisper of a voice in the wilderness. As more people flocked to his tent in hopes of a rare healing he began to sense them. Not just that they were there, no — all that took was a good set of ears. No, he could feel them the way he used to see them — their needs and hopes and potential. The Lord never granted him absolute knowledge, but with it he could tell that David Gelbart (who'd already lived a long life, and whose lungs were now failing him) was needed desperately to right a long-ago wrong. And young Layla would be a force of grace in this world, if she had the time.

Now when he felt the healing energy building inside him, urging him toward another healing, Roy could find the people God wanted him to heal. There were always several in the tent, and while he wished he could heal them all he could only chose the one shining brightest in his sightless vision — the one anointed by God to receive His holy benediction.

Tonight Roy felt the new presence even before he entered the tent. He paused outside, Sue Anne and his aide Eddie at his sides, and focused his mind on that soul. What he found caught him by surprise, and he remained rooted in place even as Sue Anne gently nudged him to continue to the tent.

The soul shone bright, even as the body failed. There was mystery here, and pain, and self-sacrifice that bordered on martyrdom. Strength, yes, strength like he'd never seen. But there was also skepticism, and something that surprised Roy even more — acceptance. Skeptics came to him from time to time, dragged here by loved ones who possessed the faith they lacked. But all those who came for healing wanted to be healed, even when they didn't believe. This one, though... this one was simply waiting to die.

And the road that stretched out before the soul... Roy could not see what it was, or where it led, but the magnitude of that path rocked him physically. There was purpose there, a bright purpose that — lost — would darken the world with its passing. God's blessing lay on this one like a sunbeam penetrating clouds. Roy had to find him.

His wife was murmuring a question; he hadn't even heard her, but he drew in a breath and spoke. "We have any newcomers today, Sue Anne?"

"We do, Roy. Hardly a day goes by when we don't get at least one or two." She squeezed his arm gently.

"All right then." He nodded and took a step toward the tent.

Eddie sat at the piano as Sue Anne led him to the stage. Praying that the soul would reveal itself without him having to actively search over days (delay brought the danger of losing this soul), he began to preach. "It is the Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal, by helping me see into people's hearts."

"Yeh, and right out of their wallets."

The words were muttered, but Roy heard them anyway. He couldn't help but smile — was it going to be so easy? The Lord must truly want this one healed, if Roy could identify him so soon. "You think so, young man?"

He could feel the shock, and even a hint of obviously unfamiliar embarrassment. "Sorry."

Roy's smile grew. "Just watch what you say around a blind man. We got real sharp ears. What's your name, son?"

He could sense the rapt attention of his congregation as the young man cleared his throat. "Dean."

Sometimes it was that simple. Dean — the name reverberated in his heart, like the clarity of a bell tolling across empty fields. This was the soul he'd sensed; he had no doubt. Blessed be the Lord, because He has heard the voice of my supplications.

Nodding, Roy extended his hand. "I want you to come up here with me." There was applause then, from those who knew what was coming. He could even sense the palpable relief of whoever it was who'd brought this Dean fellow here — someone whose soul shone just as brightly as the dying young man. It was almost blinding, having these two here in his tent.

"No, that's ok."

Shocked silence dampened the tent, but somehow the refusal didn't surprise Roy. He even smiled as he heard Dean's brother — he realized now that the two souls, so closely matched, could only belong to brothers — choke out "What are you doing?"

"You, you, you come here to be healed, haven't you?" Roy asked, as if it was the plainest thing in the world.

"Well, yeh, but..." For a moment the young man's stuttering answer was drowned out by applause. "Uh, maybe you should just pick someone else."

Roy's amused smile grew. "Uh uh, no. I didn't pick you, Dean. The Lord did." And he could see why — that request to pick someone else didn't come simply from embarrassment. He could tell Dean would rather have someone else healed, that he didn't feel he deserved grace. A martyr for Good, right here in his own tent. My heart greatly rejoices, and with my song I will praise Him.

"Get up there!" It was a command, a plea, a desperate verbal shove from the brother. Roy kept his hand extended.

He could tell by the congregation's joy that Dean had relented and was making his way forward. Then he could hear the heavy footfalls of a man using all his strength just to climb those few steps, and harsh breaths that would have numbered among the last the young man's body would take. Roy didn't need to see to know the young man stood beside him; he could hear the tortured breath and feel his unsteady balance shifting on the plywood stage. "You ready?"

"Look, ah, no disrespect, but I'm not exactly a believer."

Roy couldn't stop smiling. Three denials now. Somehow it seemed fitting. "You will be, son. You will be. Pray with me, friends."

Lifting his hands, he emptied his mind and soul of all thoughts and cares, offering himself up as a vessel of the Lord's healing. It came quickly; already he could feel the power brimming in his soul, in his hands. Reaching out, he sought out the young man's face and cupped his cheek gently. The skin under his hand was feverish, with fear lurking just below. "All right now, all right now," he murmured, and let that power flow through him.

He felt and heard Dean fall to his knees, but he did not lose contact. No, the power was moving freely now, as if the Lord was putting His hand over Roy's and giving the young man His blessing. The Lord is their strength, and He is the saving refuge of His anointed.

"All right now." Energy coursed forth, and the young man collapsed, slipping almost silently to the floor. The crowd's cheers and hallelujahs couldn't overwhelm the worried shout from the young man's brother. Even through the lingering exultation and exhaustion that surged through Roy after each healing, he could hear the running footsteps, the worried "Dean, say something!"

Silence was the reply, but Roy could see. He could see that shining possibility, free now of the shadow of death, glowing so bright he almost shaded his blind eyes. He could see a young man — two young men — full of purpose and promise and goodness.

And Roy marveled in the mercy and wisdom of the Lord.

—end—