Walking by Faith, Not by Sight

Camille Mc Millan Rambharat

It was a grey, rainy Saturday morning as I hustled from my volunteering and running errands to finally finding time to tackle a long-overdue task—sorting through over 15,000 photos, including way too many screenshots, to decide what needed to be deleted and what was worth keeping on my phone. After that, I did an online order for printed copies of some cherished family memories from years ago, planning to collect them later that day.

As I made my way to my hair appointment for my 3:30 p.m., I was still undecided about what to do with my hair. Every three to four months, without fail, my hairstylist would greet me the moment I walked in with the same exclamation:

“Oh my goodness, Camille—your hair grows so thick and fast—it looks like a wig!”

We would chuckle as I responded, “Goodness, girl, you say that every time I come in here.” More laughter followed before she invited me to take a seat.

You’re probably wondering, where I am going with this story?

Well, as a true Trinbagonian, there’s never a short version of a long story.

Earlier that morning, before leaving home, I posted on my WhatsApp feed: “My sheep know me by my voice” (Jn 10:27).

For some reason, this verse stood out to me more than ever before.

One block away from the hairstylist’s shop, I stopped at a red light, watching the rain slam against my windshield. Just then, I noticed a gentleman crossing the dual carriageway at the lights. His red and white cane extended slightly in front of him as he walked confidently across the road. His cane signalled he was deaf-blind. The rain soaked through his clothes, yet his strides remained unbroken and unshaken.

At that moment, a stillness filled me, and I finally understood the depth of the scripture: “For we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7).

As I sat there, I began to question the true meaning of my own faith—a guiding force in my life since childhood. I’ve watched my family, friends, and even strangers testify about their faith. But as I watched this man cross the street, something stirred deep within me.

A voice inside asked: ‘Is that what true faith looks like? Do you really have that kind of faith, Camille? Is that what your faith looks like—at all times?’

Do I truly trust God so blindly? Have my steps been entirely dependent on the Good Shepherd, who carries His staff as He leads His sheep? After all, Jesus said: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (Jn 10:27).

The truth? My faith isn’t always at that level. Maybe, just maybe, past experiences and the gentleman’s physical environment gave him the confidence to walk with such faith. Would he have been as confident crossing a street in another country—one where people disregard traffic laws, where drivers don’t pause, and where no system exists to protect the vulnerable?

Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps my faith, too, has been stronger at times depending on my environment—a space where my spiritual beliefs are supported by those around me, who look out for me during those many dual-carriageway moments in life. Especially when I’ve found myself on a freeway, struggling to understand what’s happening around me.

And then, scripture reminds me: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight,” (Prov 3:5-6).

I was reminded that faith isn’t about the safety of our surroundings but about the trust and obedience we place in our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, who leads us through to the other side—toward something greater and better, beyond our own desires and understanding.

So, I leave you with this question that came to me on that grey, rainy Saturday morning. If you suddenly lost your sight, either physically and/or spiritually, would you still step forward with unwavering confidence, trusting not in what you see, but in the One who sees all?