I have used this word many times over the last ten years. Perspective changes everything. Our reactions, responses, impressions, interpretations, even our faith, are all affected by our perspective.
When I was a child, I used to love to swing on the playground. Like most kids, I would pump my legs to reach the tops of the swing set, often attempting to jump out at the apex of the stride. One of my favorite things, like many, was to lay on my belly in the swing and spin. Both of these changed the way I viewed the world. One, I could see into or above the structures and trees. Being above made things below look smaller. As I stand at the window of a top floor in a building, I still look down to see the small people moving slower than I anticipated. As I would spin, things moved faster, were much closer, and life seemed to blur. Today I get dizzy walking in circles looking for my keys, so I avoid this spinning sensation!
As I would sit in the hospital so many days next to I95, I would look out at the cars and wonder about the people in them. Did they see us? Did they know this children’s hospital is filled with thousands of parents begging to come back out and get stuck in five o’clock traffic? I reminisced about my own time sitting in that traffic, frustrated life had slowed down to a snail’s crawl when I had things to do, people to see, and places to be. I remember shaking my fist at the cars darting in and out of traffic, clearly in a much bigger hurry than I, upset that they didn’t respect the fact that we all had somewhere else to be. As that parent in the window, I watched that very traffic day in and day out, knowing most of them never considered children were inside facing the most difficult of days. With the traffic bogging down to a slow crawl in the blistery days of summer, it was clear that people were focused and oblivious to others around them. On the days we left, I would creep into that traffic from the on-ramp, with my earbuds in to call home to announce our departure. I was unaware of the guy running late to his own wife at home or the woman trying to leave her long day at the office. I just wanted to go home and I wasn’t worried about anyone else.
As a young mother nearly twenty years ago, I had a very different perspective of the world. My husband and I were in our mid-twenties, both embarking on our careers, and we even had passport stamps under our belt. Our perspective of the world was wide-eyed and optimistic. We wanted to travel the world, visiting locations far from the limits of the Southeastern United States. Our first journey landed us in the mid-west of Texas and New Mexico, within months of being married, so we felt we had embarked on to find a new frontier. Travels to the far East allowed us to see the world’s view of the place we proudly called home. Our perspective changed as we looked at things from other’s point of view. Did you know that South Koreans won the Korean War, despite our interference that almost cost them the victory? It’s all about perspective, folks.
As we began our latest journey into the world of parenthood, we thought we knew what to expect. We have always prided ourselves on being insightful, resourceful, and educated on matters that lay before us. Therefore, we read books, blogs, and attended seminars. We interacted with other young parents and sought counsel from older, wiser, and more versed parents. We knew risks and consequences, potential complications, and we weighed our decisions carefully in a multitude of possible scenarios.
I will spare you the details of each of my children’s incredible arrivals, but I will tell you that my perspective, therefore my response, changed with each one. It didn’t take me long to realize “natural birth” should only be embarked on by real survivalists with Brer Grille skills. Which, honestly, I think he too would have cried “epidural” around 8 cm. The first class I joined after I found out I was expecting number 2 was the epidural class (mandatory in the state of Georgia).
My perspective on perfect parenting has changed over the course of 20 years and 4 kids. What was once considered perfection (tidy, clean, monogrammed jumpers, bows on the head, matching diaper bag and sippy cup, and more) is now not even a goal on my radar! Now, perfection is a day with no dirty undies, no bleeding, and everyone is fed more than gummy snacks and goldfish. Oh, how far we fall!
It’s not that at all. It is perspective. We realize the attempts to get oohs and aahs from others, was not only difficult but unnecessary. We have shed our pride to show off our dearest darlings at every moment, and we instead relish in the moments. We’ve learned muddy shoes are from kids enjoying the outdoors. Sticky fingers belong to healthy kids feeding themselves. Messy floors are toys that are played with, as one day it may all be gone.
As parents, we have made some of the most inexplicable decisions regarding our children. We have made medical decisions that ultimately changed the course of our lives as we know it. We faced matters with the information we had at the time, the resources we could access, and the goals we had in mind.
With Elizabeth, our goal was survival. We wanted to help our girl beat this disease like a champ so we could get back to normal. We utilized the best medical resources available at the time. We made difficult decisions we felt would lead to our goal. Often we were under scrutiny for our decisions, and at times we shut out people/places from our lives so we could meet our goals better. From our perspective, we were doing what was best for our child. We limited her exposure to the world. We were fighting for the life we wanted against the life we were given.
With Maddie, our perspective had been directly impacted by Elizabeth’s journey. We chose to homeschool her for six years, a decision many didn’t understand. It wasn’t because Maddie had academic or behavioral issues, but from our perspective, grief is often misinterpreted in children by people who don’t have the experience to handle it. What appears as disobedience/defiance is often an outburst related to their grief. It could be the month of their passing, their birth, their diagnosis, or even the weather is changing and it is reminiscent of the season they last enjoyed time with their loved one. It can be a trigger of any sensory manner (sights, smells, sounds). For Maddie, the pool and tea sets were her triggers. She enjoyed those with her sister fondly, but when it was warm enough to swim, we saw some behavioral issues. When she came across her tea set, she cried. For us, homeschooling was a controllable environment for our grief. We could dictate how to handle grief each day as it was given to us.
I have several friends with special needs children. When they began, just like us, they had perfect visions for how their parenting experiences would go. We were all aware of the terrible twos, temperamental tweens, and tragic teens. We were prepared for those. What we weren’t told to be prepared for were IEP meetings, 504 plans, extensive therapy sessions, exclusion, discrimination, and ignorance. We weren’t trained to face the giants of the BigEd (Big Education), how to console a sensory kiddo, how to talk to a non-verbal, or how to complete a sundry of assistance forms that take a PhD to read. No books were written how to be a loving spouse while balancing a difficult home, or how to have a date night without discussing the kids. No one has explained how to go on the much needed vacation without a qualified and medically trained baby sitter.
To all my friends who have learned to live life with a different perspective, know that you are not unseen. You are not unnoticed. You are not judged by all. Your decisions are not always questioned, sometimes it simply takes a person saying, I support your decision because you know what’s best for your child.
With Maddie, we had the information to appreciate the gravity of her diagnosis from day one. While that didn’t waiver our optimism, it did entirely change our perspective and approach to her care. Knowing she had a very slim chance of long-term survival of her disease, we chose to take an unconventional approach to her care. We dictated how, when, and with what she would be treated. We chose to let life experiences trump medical interventions. Our perspective was that of time is fleeting. Our time with our little girl was rapidly withering, and we would not see her become a young woman. We chose to embrace each savoring moment with her, without letting the “necessary” things get in the way. Was she really going to need algebra? Would it matter if she didn’t get sick from the failing chemo just this time? Some of the decisions were frowned upon, but from our perspective, they were easy choices.
This week our church is in Revival. I remember Maddie loved this time of year. She loved the passionate reaction to Christ that was felt in our church. She would sit in the middle section up front with her youth pastor and his wife, her Sunday School teacher. From where I sat, I could see her. My perspective let me see my girl worship Jesus. She sang, with hands raised, tears streaming down from her closed eyes. Her head in that scarf or beanie, my line of sight was not obscured by her previous brown locks.
As I have at in church this week, I have shed tears too. Her peers, after attending a powerful youth weekend called DNow, have boldly proclaimed their love of Christ, many accepting salvation this week. Last night, from my seat, looking in her direction, I found 5 young men, locked in arms, as they praised Jesus. Last night, Rick Coram preached on If the Rapture Comes Tonight. These youth have accepted Christ so that they will be ready when Jesus returns. I feel certain that the perspective from Heaven is beautiful as they look down on the good and mighty works happening in our youth today.
I can tell you with confidence, my perspective of death or the rapture are completely different today than before. When I was younger, I had a natural fear of death, now I consider it a passage. I relish in the idea of Rapture as it would be an instantaneous reunion with my entire family intact. To have all four of my kids together, for once, would be a mother’s dream. As the preacher asked, “if the rapture comes tonight, would you be ready?”, we professed, boldly, “YES, let’s do this!” We do not fear that event, we actually long for it. Not in a desire to leave this world, but in a desire to reunite with our family. Our perspective is slightly different because of our experience. So many Christians who grieve feel this same sentiment.
Perspective is what leads you, changes you, defines you, and guides you. Your decisions are based on your perspective, no matter what the issue is. If you hear negative things from friends about an eatery, your perspective will change with their perception. If you are fed the word of God into your life, you will view heaven and death differently. If you are faced with life altering conditions, your time will take on a new value and priority. If your child is critically ill or requires additional time, love, resources, or support, you will go out of your way to face the giants to protect and provide for them.
I hope today you seek the ability to see the world from different perspectives. I pray, more than anything that your perspective of Heaven is an accurate one and that you appreciate the decisions you have to make “on this side”. To my brave visionaries who view the world differently, you are not unseen.
Hugs to each of you.