A Shorter Perspective

I’ve written a lot about having different perspectives in life – an eternal perspective on our earthly journey, a humorous perspective on the mundane, and even a grace filled perspective as we trudge through frustrations that make us look way too much like Jekyll and Hyde.  

But the perspective that I’m most fascinated by is a child’s perspective.  Just a few weeks ago I knelt down so I that was the height of my eight year old daughter.  I looked up at all the people around me and asked her what life was like from this perspective. 

“It's just shorter, mom.“

Oh. So that was a deep and meaningful conversation. 

I was thinking back to my son’s poetry reading when he was in second grade.  He wrote a poem about me from his perspective and recited it in front of all the kids and parents in his class.

Had you been watching my anticipation of this public reading, you would have laughed.  Out loud.  I had my camera all geared up and after listening to one accolade after another from the students to their mothers, I had a premature smile across my face awaiting anxiously the words my son might declare about me.  Perhaps he’d note that I was the master at packing his lunch every morning. Or maybe he’d declare how his mom was his biggest fan at his soccer games.  My son and I shared a mutual affection for his pet rat at the time, so I was sure there would be some kind of praise for purchasing the rodent. 

And then this from my boy:

My Mom.

Good Cook

Big Teeth

Smelly

My Mom. 

I laughed along with everyone else while becoming increasingly self-conscious of everyone staring at my apparent big teeth.  

Good. Grief.   What do big teeth even look like?  

Fortunately I had the wherewithal to not do a quick sniff of my armpits.  The teacher tried to explain on my behalf announcing that according to my son, his mother was an avid runner and was apparently often sweaty because of the sport. 

And Im pretty sure that really helped everyone’s mental picture.  

At least I was a good cook from my son’s standpoint.  Even though I smelled. 

I think it's fun (though admittedly embarrassing at times) to see life through the eyes of our kids, and so when my youngest daughter came home with a story she had read to her class that was written and illustrated about an important event in her life, I was as excited to delve into it as I was to hear my son’s poetry. 

And so this is Lily’s story, and it’s entitled: 

Max and the Vacuum Cleaner:

Once my dog Max was walking in the kitchen and my mom was getting ready to vacuum. 

And my mom started to but she did not see my dog so she vacuumed up my dog’s tale. 

My dog bit the vacuum. 

And one summer we went to the beach and we stayed for a long time. 

When we got home our dog forgot about us until I came in. 

I sat down and Max sat on my lap and slobbered on me. 

I didn’t like my dog any more.  I locked him in my closet and in the shower door. 

Now I love my dog and he hates me now.  He follows my mom too much. 

My dad does not like him.  But my dog loves him. 

But Max does not follow him around. 

The End. 

And so I inquired.  I asked her why she chose to write about this “significant” story in her life.  Why not write about, oh, something she learned at church or something fun we did on a family vacation or really anything other than mom sucking up the dog’s tail in the vacuum cleaner.   

She explained that those are just “not good stories, mom.” 

The curious thing is that while I can kind of recall each of these moments she wrote about, none of them were very memorable to me, other than vacuuming the dog’s tail, of course.  Totally an accident, just to clarify; I suspected my daughter was horrified by the event because of the way she dramatically coddled the dog who was clearly fine (I have to admit that I laughed pretty hard after making fun of poor Max for years because of his fear of vacuums.  I mean why run away from a vacuum, Max?  

Annnd…. that’s why.   Poor dog.  

In the mind of an eight-year old girl, when her teacher said “important and memorable,” her memories went to Max and the Vacuum, and it reminded me of something important as a mom:  what I deem as little and even insignificant moments in life are probably more important than I realize in the eyes of my children.  It takes bending down and having a shorter perspective to see just how important those moments really are.  

My actions and attitude, my rants and my raves are noticed by my kids (as are my big teeth and body odor). 

Thank the Lord for His grace because I mess up in parenting repeatedly, but I’m grateful for the reminder that the little moments matter along this journey of child rearing.  I want to notice these moments, savor them, and make them count.  Every once in a while, I want to kneel down and look at life through the eyes of my kids.  I want to see from my daughter's perspective how important the few minutes of concentrated time are when she asks me to watch her “show,” even when I'm in the middle of other tasks.  I want to look through the eyes of my oldest when she pops her head in late at night even though I’m crawling with exhaustion, and I want to know for a few minutes the excitement my son feels when he tells me about a video game, even though I can't quite follow most of what he's saying.  (I'm getting old).   

But my son matters to me.  And those five minutes matter to him.

I was at the beach last week in the same spot my family has vacationed for the last twenty-seven years.  I cried when we walked up to the beach; it wasn’t the beauty that overtook my emotions but the memories of my mom and dad, my grandma, grandpa, sisters, and all the years of laughing, crying, conversations, card playing, and…little moments. 

I’ll never forget being a preteen during one of these vacations and sitting on the beach listening to my parents discuss possible advent themes for the upcoming season.  While they talked, I made my way to the ocean.  My dad followed unexpectedly and we bobbed around in the water for what seemed like a long time while I told him about all sorts of things that were important to me at the time:  youth group, basketball, piano competitions, and a variety of other topics.

My dad may or may not have remembered those moments, but I will never forget them.  From my perspective, dad took the time to join me and listen to me.  From my perspective, he showed that what I had to say mattered to him.  It may have been a little moment for my dad at the time, but man, those few moments meant the world to me.  He was bending down and seeing life from my shorter perspective.   

The last time I was at this beach I sat on the shore holding the phone out for my bedridden mom to hear the ocean waves.  She cried restlessly on the other end while I cried quietly on mine.  I sat on the shore for a while during this recent vacation thinking about other little moments with mom and tearfully considered what will only be memories from here on out for me and my sisters.  While reminiscing, I also thought how much fun my youngest has each summer collecting all the shells that surrounded me.  

I looked at the waves and smiled at the fact that my son cannot contain himself when he sees a red flag on the beach, warning everyone that the waves are a bit dangerous.  The bigger, the better.  And I may or may not have started humming a One Direction song at one point remembering my oldest introducing one of the band's newest releases while sitting on the beach.  

I have many little moments from my own childhood all tucked away that I'll never forget.  But my hope, my prayer, in that in the coming days, weeks, months and years I'll continue to put down the book or the phone for a few minutes in order to collect a few seashells, body surf a few waves, and listen along to some of the newest music. 

It's all about kneeling down and seeing life through their eyes.  Even if it means One Direction.   Even if it means learning you're a little smelly with large teeth.  Even it means merely having a shorter perspective.