Shifting Perspective

Monday was a hard day for a whole collection of reasons, not the least of which was the eight inches of snow that fell in the six hours between when I went to bed Sunday night, and when I walked out the door to catch a bus on Monday morning.

As I stood at the last bus stop of the day, after nearly falling on the slick ground, I thought to myself, "Yep, if I fell and hurt myself, that would just be the perfect capper to this crappy day."

And then I stopped.

Because, well, it had been a crappy day.  But my internal voice kicked in.  The voice that is honed by a year and a half of choosing to notice the little things and be grateful.

I think this was the first time that voice really took on a life of it's own.

For every complaint I came up with for the day, it had a response.

I said, "The weather was nasty, and my first class almost got canceled after I hauled my butt out of bed to get there, and then it was a waste of time.  I sat there and a librarian told me how to search for journal articles.  I learned that, umm, ten years ago, when I actually was a first year student, not a student taking first random first year classes ten years later."

The voice reminded me, "But the class didn't get canceled.  And, instead of paying attention to the librarian, you used the time to research for the project due later this week, and emailed yourself several potentially very useful journal articles that will apply to TWO different projects."

I said, "Ugh, I got word of another marriage ended.  My heart hurts and I'm tired of all these shattered relationships."

The voice reminded me of several friends held dear, and of the fragility of marriage, and entreated me to lift their marriages up in prayer.

I said, "Well fine, but that other class did get canceled.  What a waste in the middle of my day."

The voice said, "Umm... but that canceled class let you attend the worship gathering on campus, and on a really hard day, have 40 minutes to really quiet your heart and let it rest.  And you miss corporate worship, remember?"

I said, "My evening plans changed.  And it made me cry.  In the hallway.  Over plans I wasn't even very attached to."

The voice commented, "But you get to rest instead.  And join a friend to watch a show that always makes you laugh."

I said, "I almost fell in this dang snow that's everywhere!"

The voice said, "But you didn't."

Dang, that inner voice of mine got wise when I wasn't looking!

It had an answer for everything.

And more than that, it was right.

Yes, the day on Monday presented a great deal of challenges (some far less trivial than canceled classes, by the way).  And the temptation was to see the day as a disaster.

But the practice of making those Daily 5 lists seems to have paid off.  I'm less willing to write off a whole day as a disaster, and more able to see the balance of beautiful and ugly, painful and joyful.

It's a shifting perspective that's beginning to assert itself, and I'm making room in my heart to make it a cozy spot.  I want it to stick around.

Perspective

I've found myself thinking about perspective quite a lot this last week or so.

My parents have had a missionary family coming and going from their house for the last couple weeks, and, since I spend the vast majority of my days at mom and dad's, I've gotten to enjoy their company as well.

I've met dozens of missionary kids and families over the years, and this family has rapidly become one of my favorites.  Their children are articulate, well-adapted, and genuinely interested in the world around them and in finding fun everywhere they go.

I've been exposed to quite a number of missionary kids who seem quite adrift when they land in North America.  Conversations with them usually entail a lengthy  dissertation on how very different life in North America is from life in whatever country it is that their family serves in, and then a discussion of why it is that whatever the aspect of life under discussion is done better in that country than in North America.

When I began to travel, my dad gave me a piece of advice that I've found valuable.  Don't compare, and don't make judgments about what is better or worse.  The context is different.  Choose to appreciate, to observe, to explore, to seek to understand.  Sometimes as I'm talking with missionary kids, I wish they were given that same advice about approaching life back in North America - that in the same way it would be irritating and horrible for me to come to their home context and pass judgment about how things are done, it's equally irritating for them to come here and pass judgment.

In any case, I particularly appreciated the family that was staying with us.  Rather than complain about what they missed, I heard over and over from their three children, "We can't do that in Ghana!"  It was great fun to watch their youngest child's eyes grow large as she spotted one of the many herds of cows that spot the Alberta foothills.  "Look at how big those cows are!!!"  It was totally enjoyable to sit with them in a movie theatre and hear about how this was only the second or third time they'd ever been in a movie theatre.  I loved hearing them detail their delight at the vast assortment of wildlife they saw as they toured the mountains for the first time (none of them, parents included, had ever seen mountains!)  And I took joy in watching my dad teach the kids the basics of fly fishing - another "we can't do that in Ghana" experience for their collection.

There was something in watching all this that caught my attention.  That made me think about differing perspectives.  I live in a land where cattle are huge, and the biblical phrase about God "owning the cattle on a thousand hills" takes on a truly surreal meaning.  I live in "Alberta beef" country, where cattle are the pride and joy of ranchers, and are raised by the thousands.  Where cows are huge, plentiful, and where very high quality beef is easily obtained from just about any butcher or grocery store.  These kids come from a world where the cattle are scrawny and where a single cow can make an immense difference in the life and living eked out by a family.

I was thinking about perspective in a different way this week too.  Late on Monday night I sat in a car, catching up with a friend, hearing about her summer, and sharing some of the challenges that life has thrown my way this summer.  In her typically sarcastic way, she asked "and how's that for you?"  I laughed and began to respond in kind, "well, it's been just..." and I bit back the word I'd planned to use, threw something else in it's place and finished answering. 

She caught my pause.  "You were going to say it's been hell, weren't you?" 

"yep."

"You know that you can say that right?"

And my response caught me off guard as well.

"I know, but I'm working to change how I see this.  To be grateful for the healing that's coming, and not focus so much on how brutal the process is."

I'm thinking about perspective this week, and I want my perspective to be more like that of the kids I've so appreciated.  To let them be my teachers.  To see opportunity, and joy, and new things, instead of focusing on what has changed, what I miss, what aches.  I want to see healing instead of wallowing in the muck of a very broken life.  Even when everything is unfamiliar.  I want to have an "I can't do that in Ghana" attitude and make the most of what I am being offered, rather than wishing for a different portion.  And I want to continue to work on seeing a different perspective reflected not only in my thoughts, but in my outlook, my writing and my speech.

Perspective

I spent a great evening with friends, was in a good mood, and returned home to discover my roommate staring blankly at our kitchen sink, filled with some of the most disgusting water I've ever seen, and informing that me it seemed to have backed up.

Perfect.

Exit warm, happy, I just cuddled a baby for the second straight evening feelings.

I told her we needed to scoop the water out of the sink and dump it down the toilet, so that we could put draino down the drain.  She wandered off, and left me to clean up the mess she made (I guess I blame her a little.  For months I've been warning her that she needed to not let all that food go down the drain, and it seemed somehow fitting that on a day when I'd done no cooking or dishes, the final clogging came.)  I emptied two and a half dish basins of filthy out of the sink and down the toilet, poured draino in, and waited.  Nothing.  I've put more in, but I'm not hopeful.  I've told my roommate that she needs to phone or email our landlord and let him know (and also tell him that the bit of water remaining in the sink has corrosive draino in it!)

Let me be clear that while outwardly I handled the situation well, inwardly I was pretty ticked off.  I wonder sometimes if it's a New Zealander thing, because both of my roommates have been from New Zealand, and they seem to just put everything down the drain (leading to my current skills in unblocking tub and sink drains!)  I don't ever remember having a blocked drain in 24 years of living with my parents, but I've had at least 3 while living with the Kiwis.  And, I've warned them repeatedly, speaking with my current roommate even just this week about not letting crap collect in the sink and go down the drain.  I was fuming as I cleaned.  I'm still a little mad now.

And then, I sat down at my computer.  Seems some of the Canadians killed in Haiti are connected to me via their connections with a very dear friend of mine.

Perspective.

Maybe a blocked kitchen drain, even one that was much warned about, isn't worth quite so much anger and energy and effort given the devestation in Haiti, given the hundreds of thousands who are grieving that those they love have had their lives cut short, given so much other destruction.

I read this blog post that Anne Jackson wrote, and related a little.  Getting starbucks anyway.  Feeling numb.  Speaking passionately about anti-poverty issues, and then not quite knowing what to do.

I added a Red Cross button to my sidebar.  An easy way to give.  As soon as I'm paid on Friday, I'm going to give as well.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about perspective, about a blocked kitchen drain being a pretty minor thing in light of collapsed buildings, and dead loved ones.

And I'm praying.  With words, and with the cries of my heart that I trust the Spirit to know and hear and carry to the Father on my behalf.