Where Do Your Eyes Go?

There is something deeply moving to me about the way Jesus looked to the Father.

Again and again throughout the Gospels, we find Him stepping away from the noise. Away from the crowds. Away from expectations. Even away from His closest friends. Not because He wanted to escape the world, but because He wanted to be with the Father.

I've often wondered what those moments were like.

What did the silence feel like?

What was it like to simply rest in the Father's presence before returning to people who needed Him?

When I began painting this portrait, I wasn't trying to capture a dramatic moment. I wasn't painting a miracle or a sermon.

I wanted to paint something quieter.

I wanted to paint the moment when Jesus simply lifted His eyes to the Father.

The longer I worked on it, the more I realized that His gaze wasn't only teaching me about Him—it was gently asking something of me.

Where do I look first?

When uncertainty comes... where do my thoughts run?

When I need wisdom, comfort, direction, or simply someone to understand what is happening inside me... who do I instinctively turn to?

It's surprisingly easy to carry everything alone. To keep thinking a little longer, worrying a little more, searching for one more answer before we finally become still.

Yet Jesus, the One who knew the Father perfectly, continually returned to Him.

Not because He was weak.

Not because He lacked wisdom.

But because love naturally seeks communion.

Perhaps that's what prayer is before it is anything else.

Not finding the right words.

Not trying to earn God's attention.

Simply turning our hearts toward the One who already sees us.

I love that Jesus didn't reserve those moments for extraordinary days. He sought the Father before important decisions, after long days, in grief, in gratitude, in weariness. His life reminds me that there is no moment too ordinary to be brought into God's presence.

And maybe that's the invitation hidden in this painting.

Not to admire Jesus from a distance.

But to follow the direction of His gaze…

To lift our own eyes…

To bring the questions we cannot answer… The fears we don't know how to quiet… The gratitude we struggle to express… The hopes that still feel fragile…

Everything…

Just as He did.

“Looking up to the Father” oil painting