Every October the word spooky rises like a ghost to the forefront of my vocabulary. Its a month-long torment to my family that brings me uncanny delight. I draw the word out like the two vowels are careening around a hairpin turn until they crash into each other with a high-pitched yelp. It’s about as much fun as my middle-aged self can muster without inducing a medical event.
In reality, I’m a fraidy cat. Roller coasters terrify me. I dread flying. Driving in heavy rain is panic-inducing. And, always, I think someone is going to steal me at the gas station. So, I don’t favor the word spooky because it’s frightening. To me, the word is fanciful like bats fluttering wild and reckless under the veil of the moon’s glow.
It makes me realize how much perspective can change our point of view.
No one changed perspectives more than Jesus. It was unprecedented. Although a king, he was born humbly in a stable. He didn’t seek the finest things but the most broken people. He knew not only that sinners could be redeemed but how glorious their redemption would be. Jesus didn’t come to rule; he came to weed. He came to pick through the detritus of jealousy, greed, judgment, and selfishness so that we could fully bloom. His gentleness, his mercy, and his unconditional love for every single person are still radical all these eons since his own death and resurrection. His teachings and his example remind us to challenge our perspectives.
With even a small shift in perspective, we can better understand other points of view. We can be more tolerant, patient, and gentle. We can be less skeptical giving ourselves and our neighbor infinite mercies. We can believe in the power we have to affect change in this world through even the smallest acts of kindness. We can look through a different lens and ask ourselves where our perception is clouding our vision. We can either see through eyes of condemnation or compassion and whatever we choose is exactly what we will find.
It feels impossible these days to discuss hard things. We’ve become so comfortable aligning ourselves with the same point of view that we’re sometimes hostile to listening to others. It reminds me of the seemingly innocuous playground game Red Rover I played as a child. One team calls out a player from the other team, and that player tries to run through the other team’s arms to break the chain.
When I had my first child a friend sent me flowers with a card that read, “You know more than you think you do.”
I love that Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday this year. There’s a certain yin and yang to it. The commercialism of heart-shaped love contrasted with the stark smudge of an ashen cross gives a whole new meaning to opposites attract. Both symbols convey entirely different perceptions of the nature of love.
I sometimes suspect that my 15-year-old dog stole one of our two cats’ nine lives. Besides the obvious signs of aging — gray muzzle, cloudy eyes, and limping gait — he still acts like the overly needy, exuberant black lab that almost caused me to wreck the car on the drive home from the shelter the day we adopted him.
When I was little, I thought the best gifts came in big boxes. If they were both taller and wider than me then I knew with certainty there was a great gift inside. Once I discovered shiny trinkets, I felt quite the opposite. It was tiny boxes that magnified the glimmer of something costly and precious that I most coveted. Nowadays, I just buy my own gifts and I am not very particular about the shape or size of the box. I give them to my husband to wrap so he has an inkling of what he bought me, giving him special instructions to put any clothes in a gift bag in case I happen to need to wear them before Christmas.
Most days I feel like I’m seventeen, only without the boyfriend drama and with a credit card that I didn’t “borrow” from my mom. Those are good days. Days where life still feels full of possibilities and bending over to pick up the clothes I’ve strewn about my bedroom doesn’t make me sigh or wince.