As my family and I traveled through rural Rajasthan (a state in North India) while on vacation last week, we saw several jaw-droppingly interesting sights.

We passed by camels hauling carts of hay, an elegant regality in their stride. We spotted women, dressed in brilliantly vibrant reds and yellows, herding stubborn buffalos through dusty streets. We watched the local men, sitting on their haunches, sipping steaming chai in thatched tea shops. And there was no missing the precariously tall towers of orange jelabis crisping up in giant vats of bubbling oil right by the roadside.

Yeah, Lonely Planet should definitely hire me to write about the postcard-like sights we saw as we wove our way through small villages en route to our hotel.

But there was something I didn’t see during our entire five-day trip to Rajasthan. I didn’t see one single person wearing glasses.

At first, I assumed it was because they all ate super healthy, organic produce right from their small farms. But then I was educated about this peculiar trait: It’s not that everyone in the villages had perfect vision. It was simply because there were no ophthalmologists around to check their eyesight and no Lenskart to stroll into and buy a pair of “frames to match your mood.”

As their eyesight deteriorates, the folks in these small towns simply adjust to blurry vision. It becomes, quite literally, the lens through which they view the world.

When non-profits hold eye camps in rural areas, they report that the locals are often shocked when their vision is corrected with glasses. They didn’t know that life could be so much more vibrant with just a simple pair of glasses.

Sometimes, we walk through life with fuzzy vision of who God is, and, often, we don’t even realize our eyesight is blurry. But the question is, what are you and I missing out on when we simpy subscribe to an unclear, indistinct idea of God?

Maybe you grew up with an image of a dictator God. You see Him as impersonal and distant, constantly looking down to check whether you’re tripping up, ready to rebuke you when you do.

On the other end of the spectrum, maybe you see Him as Santa Claus in the sky. He’s got a fluffy white beard, is full of good cheer and His MO is to shower you with gifts.

May I suggest that when we forget the corrective lens of Scripture, we end up with a picture of God that is vastly different from who He actually is.

It’s not that we can simply say, “Let’s just go with something in the middle—not a mean dictator and not a Santa lookalike. Fine, that works.”

The problem with that is we may understand who He is not, but still don’t who He is. We don’t understand His character. And the thing is, we won’t—not until we crack open our Bibles and ask the question: What does God reveal of Himself in His Word?

Maybe you’re thinking, “But why? Why does that even matter? How does God’s character affect my life?”

Friend, it changes everything.

When we discover the character of God, we begin to decipher our own nature. Contrary to popular culture’s idea, we don’t “find” ourselves by looking within. We begin to know ourselves when we look up at Him.

As A.W. Tozer writes in The Knowledge of the Holy: “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”

When we see God as the suffering servant who endured the torture of the Cross, we are brought to our knees in absolute humility and understand how we fall short of His glory.

When we see God as the One who puts the stars in place and spins the planets into motion, we stand astounded and understand the futility of our pursuits.

When we begin to understand God’s omniscience, His omnipotence, His immutability, His omnipresence, His timelessness, His perfect goodness, we realize our limitedness and put our trust in Him, no matter what our circumstances.

When we look at the empty tomb, we see His incomparably great power and learn that we have that resurrection power within us and therefore can live in the restful grip of eternal security.

I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. The more time I spend in the Word, the more I realize that I need a lifetime to discover His character. And that fills me with untold delight—this God who is infinitely greater than I could ever grasp is undoubtedly worthy of all my worship and more.

Like one preacher said: Theology (understanding who God is) leads to doxology (worshipping God).

Maybe like those villagers in Rajasthan, we need vision correction too. We need to let His Word—and not culture—mold our view of Him. We can’t let Sunday School stories from our childhood completely form our image of Him. Nor can we can’t let influencers on Instagram tell us who He is.

We need the Word of God to reveal the God of the Word.

And as we see the great I Am in His glory, we bow down in worship just as we were created to do.

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