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Perspective

The other day at a park in Huron I noticed rocks on the ground in front of the bench where I was sitting. I decided to lay down and see what kind of a picture I could take. This is the image I captured.
Reflecting on this image, questions started to surface. Would someone who had never been to this park believe there are large rocks at the park? Are the rocks what line the shore? Are there any houses or other structures here? What is that strange bush on the left side of the photo?
The reality is that most of these rocks are not that large, this park is surrounded by homes (and if you enlarge this image you can see the Cedar Point skyline in the distance. Your perception of this park is shaped by the perspective you have.
Life is no different. Your perception of life is shaped by the perspective you have.
Perspective impacts so many things.
How we view our circumstances.
How we approach a situation.
How we judge another person.
How we interpret the Bible.
How we understand God.
As our lives change, our perspective changes. As our perspective changes, so does the way we interpret life.
The circumstance that would have brought fear now brings hope.
The situation I might have run from I now pursue.
The person I used to look down on I now embrace.
The verse I used to see one way I now see another.
The God I thought I knew is not the one I now know.
Jacques Derrida said that “we are all mediators, translators.” I believe he is right.
We interpret circumstances.
We interpret situations.
We interpret people.
We interpret the Bible.
We interpret God.
Life is interpretation. Life is perspective. Life is how you see it, how you process it, and how you react to it.
Does that mean there is no truth? I think there is. But I must always be humble enough to remember that my beliefs about truth are my interpretation based on my perspective. They are not THE truth, they are my understanding of truth from my perspective.
So today, like every day, I awoke to face life from my perspective. I will interpret every moment, every word, every interaction. And, hopefully, with humility and openness, I will stand ready to receive those moments, words, and interactions in a way that will not only allow me to interpret them, but also with the willingness to acknowledge what I cannot change, that these things will change me, allowing me to gain a new perspective that might allow me to see life a little more clearly than I did yesterday.

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Life through a screen

Last week I attended my nephew’s orchestra concert. Sitting there watching the performance, I was surrounded by moms, dads, and other family members watching the concert through the screens of their phones as they recorded the concert.
That got me to wondering… how often do we miss being in the moment because we are watching something through a screen. Don’t get me wrong, I like to capture things on video, too. But in the last year or so I have tried to do that less frequently. I’m learning it’s often more enjoyable to soak in the moment live than miss the richness of the experience trying to record it for later.
There is no rule for when to record, when to photograph, and when to set down the phone and enjoy. This is not some legalistic rant about how awful it is to ever use our phones to record special moments.
Instead, let this simply be a reminder to stop and think before watching every special moment unfold through the screen of your phone. Sometimes the best way to enjoy a moment is to be fully immersed in the experience rather than watching on a screen in two dimensions.

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I haven’t the foggiest

This weekend I was in St. Louis for the First Robotics World Championships. My son’s team had qualified earlier in the spring and was there to compete against hundreds of other teams.
Friday evening I walked across town to catch a Cardinals game. It had rained throughout the day and a veil of moisture hung just above the city. Walking down 8th Street and glancing to my left, the image above came into view. The eerie appearance of the Gateway Arch reaching up into the evening sky and fading into a cloud, obscuring the peak from view.
Isn’t life like that sometimes? We see, but not fully, wondering what lies just out of view.
What will happen tomorrow? Next week? Next year? If we are honest, often our answer is, “I haven’t the foggiest idea.” We like to pretend like we know, don’t we? We make plans. Set agendas. Build our own little empires with the surety that what we want will emerge from the fog.
The reality is, more often than not, we don’t know what lies behind the clouded veil of tomorrow. Despite our best American can-doism, we can never fully manufaction what’s there. We think we know and sometime our assumptions ring true. But not always.
The phone rings. Your mother is gone.
The doctor stands before you. There is a mass the size of melon. Weeks, maybe months.
But the fog doesn’t just veil negative moments. It’s not always a monster or doom hidden just outside of view.
Opportunities unveiled at just the right moment.
Unexpected friendships emerging from nowhere.
Hope in a place that seemed void of any.

Life has taught me, and continues to teach me there’s nothing wrong with not having the foggiest. Despite my best efforts to control life, life will not be controlled. It will take its own twists and turns, often without my permission, without seeking my input, or even without warning.
I am learning to live in the fog. To embrace the mystery. To enjoy the unknown and find shalom, even in the midst of uncertainty.
The fog has taught me, maybe even forced me, to be present in the moment. When you can’t see behind the veil, you look at what is seen. You slow down. You become more aware of the little details often overlooked.
Driving on a foggy morning causes me to reduce my speed, focus on the path of road before me, and remain alert for the slightest hint of a headlight or car. Less distracted by the radio and a host of other things clamoring for my attention on a clear day, the fog demands my complete attention.
Life in the fog requires being present in the moment. When I can’t see behind the veil, I focus on what lies before me, knowing something unexpected could emerge from the cloud any second.

The arch stretched into the sky, fading into the unknown. Sometimes life does the same…