Perspective

During this week, I have been pondering the topic of perspective. The world appears differently, depending on where we are standing at the time. Several examples come to mind.

As part of our Flight Nurse training in the Air Force, we were required to go through three days of survival training. This was a wilderness experience in a geographical area unknown to any of us who participated. I could not find my way back there if my life depended on it! During survival training, I ate armadillo and rattlesnake which were cooked over an open fire. Your first reaction might be to grimace and say how unappetizing that sounds. But, I was coming from a hungry perspective. If armadillo fajitas or rattlesnake pizza were on a menu today, it is likely that I would not order them because there is an entire menu filled with choices that I might prefer. Different perspectives....

Last week I was talking with a man who had knee surgery a few months ago. He was sharing about how weather changes affect his knee and worsen the pain. When I told this gentleman that I hoped his knee would feel better soon, he replied, "I do too. It can't get any worse." From his perspective, the pain was as bad as it could get. But, the situation could be worse. Ask someone who has lost a leg in the war, due to a vehicle accident, or from complications of diabetes. Different perspectives...

During another recent conversation, I told a gentleman that I was glad he was able to get up and go to work each day. He quipped, "Is that a good thing?" Not a good question to ask someone whose husband has not been physically able to go to work for almost a year. Yes, it is a blessing to be able to get up and go to work. Ask someone who has been laid off from a job and is struggling to make ends meet. Different perspectives....

At this point in time, we see the world from our limited view from where we are standing. But, someday, we will see things from a very different perspective.

1 Corinthians 13:12 - "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Words

On this Sunday afternoon, I am thinking about the old admonition to "say what you mean, and mean what you say." And, that brings to mind a memory from the early 1990s when I was stationed in New Mexico. At a nearby university, there was a secretary who had two very energetic little boys. I stopped by her office one day and asked how she was doing. She spoke of the challenges of working and keeping up with her rambunctious young sons. Then, she shared something that caught me by surprise. Her disclosure was that, every night when her sons were asleep, she thanked God that there was one less day to deal with them. I know in my heart that she would not have traded either of those unruly little boys for all of the wealth in the world. She had said something that she really did not mean.

A few months later, this secretary (31 yrs-old) was admitted to the hospital where I worked. She was scheduled for a tonsillectomy which can be much more difficult for an adult than it is for a child. On the morning of surgery, a chill went through my body when I heard "Code Blue" announced over the intercom, and the location was in the Operating Room. I ran to the OR, knowing that it was this secretary who had crashed. It broke my heart when I saw that she was hemorrhaging, and the surgeons were having a very difficult time getting the bleeding stopped. No one expected this wife and mother to die on that morning when she went into the Operating Room to have a tonsillectomy. But, she did. There would not be another day to "deal with" those energetic little boys.

I do not even remember the secretary's name. And, I am not suggesting in any way that she was punished for saying those words about her little boys. It is just a poignant memory which serves as a reminder that I need to say what I mean, and mean what I say.

Inflammations

I fell in love with Scarlet when she was four weeks-old. That is when we brought home the little furry red chow chow puppy. It didn't take long for Scarlet to become as attached to me as I was to her. She grew up loving me, tolerating Bob, and hating men in general. During those days, we had vehicle radios which had the knobs that you turned to change the station. If Scarlet was in the car or truck when a man's voice was on the radio, she would reach over with her paw and knock the knob around and around until she heard a woman singing or speaking. Then she would be ready to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Over the years, Scarlet sported a thick, beautiful coat of red fur. On a particular day when we lived in Illinois, I noticed something unusual deep in Scarlet's fur.

It appeared to be a bright red inflamed area about the size of the end of my thumb. My medical mind quickly assessed the situation and diagnosed that Scarlet had developed an abscess. She was licking the wound quite often. I didn't dare try to touch the area, as I feared that the pressure from my touch would cause more discomfort for my patient. So, I carefully began the process of regularly irrigating this inflamed area, hoping that it would clear up on its own.

After a day or two of continuing with the irrigations, we took Scarlet to the veterinarian (a female, of course) for an examination. The vet listened with great concern and compassion. She then instructed the technician to shave around the inflamed area so she could get a better look. To our amazement, the inflamed area came off with the fur. The "inflammation" had been a sticky, red piece of hard candy that had become embedded in Scarlet's coat.

I guess it just goes to show that things are not always as they seem. Situations can become inflamed when we don't have all of the facts. When the truth is exposed, circumstances can turn out sweeter than we imagined.

Echoes

Here are my honest, "gut" thoughts on this Thursday morning. Sometimes I feel like I am writing out into a cyberspace void. In other words, I don't know if what I am saying is being heard. When I mentioned that to my dear friend in Texas (one of the Sandra Sisters, by the way, who is a gifted writer), she said that it was normal to need "echoes" so that we know that another human has heard what we are saying. So, I am asking for echoes. That does not mean that I am asking you to say, "Oh, that was great." I just need to know that someone is out there, and that what I am saying is being heard. I want to gain from your insight and experience. If you see the world in a different way, I want you to say so. Comments and feedback will also help me as I evaluate, at the four week point, if this is something that I feel prompted to continue. I committed to blogging for four weeks, and I am finding it to be a very therapeutic outlet for me. But, my hope has been that this "public journaling" would be a blessing and an encouragement to someone along the way. Thanks for hearing my heart on this morning.

Imperfect Pounds

Today I made a pound cake, which is my dad's very favorite kind of cake. My mom taught me how to make a pound cake from scratch when I was 9 years-old. At first, upon examination, I sighed because I thought the cake had turned out perfectly. But, then I was elated to discover that it wasn't perfect after all. In my mind's eye, I can see you scratching your head and looking confused, as that seems backwards. Why would I want the pound cake to be imperfect and flawed? Okay. Here is the scoop:

My dad's favorite pound cake is one that has fallen slightly. It has the dense, moist spots that we have always called "sad spots". I am not sure why he likes it that way. He just does. Some things you just don't question as there probably is not an answer. He can enjoy a perfect cake, but prefers the ones that are not perfect. It makes me feel good to please my dad, and the best part is that everything does not have to be perfect. That takes off a lot of pressure.

I am so glad that I have an earthly father, as well as a Heavenly Father who don't expect me to be perfect. I don't have to be a certain size (speaking of pounds :) or try to impress them with my accomplishments. Their love for me is not based on performance. Even when I fall, they love me right where I am, "sad spots" and all. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

Books

I love books. And, I love things that have pictures of books on them. It is so easy to look back after we have read the entire book and see how the chapters fit together to make the story complete. However, when we are in the middle of a chapter somewhere in the middle of a book, the story does not yet make total sense.

Our lives, in many ways, are like books. Some chapters are finished, while other chapters have not yet been written. But, there is a difference that comes to mind. When we look at a book, we can easily see how many chapters are in it. We can't tell that about our lives. We could be in the middle of our life book, or we could be writing one of the final chapters. It has nothing to do with age.

During the last couple of months, I have attended three funerals. The ages of the deceased were 40, 18, and 51 years-old. I have already had the privilege of living longer than either of those dear ones who recently passed away.

It occurs to me that I don't need to put off doing what I feel prompted to do, whether it is saying an encouraging word, singing or playing a song, giving a testimony, spending time with loved ones, or any number of other things.

I want to share an excerpt that I love from Florence Littauer's book entitled "Silver Boxes....The Gift of Encouragement":

"Do you know someone who has...

A song waiting to be sung?

Some art waiting to be hung?

A piece waiting to be played?

A scene waiting to be staged?

A tale waiting to be told?

A book waiting to be sold?

A rhyme waiting to be read?

A speech waiting to be said?

If you do, don't let them die with the music still in them."

Broken Shells

I am going to share something that I wrote in March of 2009 while at Wrightsville Beach. In my mind, it just doesn't get any better than when I am walking along the shore (especially during the cooler, less crowded seasons), feeling the sand under my bare feet, listening to the crashing waves, smelling the salt water in the air, hearing the sound of the seagulls, and looking out across the ocean. It just seems to clear my head of all of the clutter. Anyway, here goes:

Broken Shells

There are shells which appear smooth and polished on the surface, glistening in the brightness of the noonday sun. Others are rough around the edges, giving a sharp, untouchable impression. Then there are the shells which are thin and fragile, beaten down and partially buried in the sand beside those which appear thick and strong.

As I walk along the ocean's edge, marveling at the gift of God's vast creation, I pick up pieces of shells which once were whole. I notice that some have jagged edges.

Then, something catches my eye. A hint of purple...shades of brown. Suddenly, the scarred, jagged edges have disappeared as I focus on the shell's beauty, rather than its flaws.

The fierce beating of the waves and the whirling sand have refined the shells until their unique, intended design has been realized and fulfilled.

We are, in many ways, like those shells. Some of us appear smooth and polished, while others are fragile, worn, or rough around the edges.

Beaten by the waves of life day after day, we eventually become the unique entities that we were intended and designed to be, in spite of, and more often because of the tossing and whirling to and fro.

Many of us have jagged, vulnerable edges which sometimes give us a sharp, untouchable appearance on the surface. But, sometimes a true friend will catch a glimpse of who we have become....a kaleidoscope of colors...and will choose to focus on our beauty, rather than our flaws. That friend can help us see ourselves as we really are, complete with a hint of purple and shades of brown.

As we bask in the warmth of friendship, our burdens seem lighter and our jagged edges less vulnerable as we joyfully discover that sometimes the broken shells are the most beautiful of all.