July 4, 2017 | Sometimes we need a change of perspective to see things clearly.
The world is an amazing place, distorted as I see it. This country is an amazing place, distorted as I see it. That was my thought as the jets flew overhead on their flyby of patriotism, sending their thunderous rumbling through my bones and into the cells of my marrow. A feeling of patriotism swelled in my chest that I hadn't felt in a very long time.
Even with its divisiveness, intolerance, and dissatisfaction of the last few years, the United States of America is still great. Why could I say that, when hatred seems rampant and the sanctity of life seems forgotten? Because we need to focus on the kindness, inclusiveness, and greatness in the people and for the people, instead. We need a new perspective. We need to feel the thunder of patriotism in our marrow.
Our founding fathers struggled to create the freedoms we now take so fully for granted. They dared to see things differently. They believed in a different vision of the future. Because they acted on their new perspective of independence, we enjoy that independence while much of the world suffers under tyrannical rule. Sure, thanks to a Broadway musical, we learned Alexander Hamilton and his cohorts had actual vices, but didn't we always know they were human?
Who ever said perfection comes along with perspective? No one. Especially when speaking of politicians.
Our military systems aren't perfect, either. What a shock to find that they are human, too. But do they face our enemies so we can live as though we have none? Do they protect us from danger and fight insurmountable battles so that we, on the home front, can enjoy peace? I worry about our government. I worry about politicians. I worry. Because they're human. There's no getting around the fact. People will continue to make mistakes, but those imperfect people will also continue to surprise, amaze, and defend.
God Bless America, land that I love. I needed a new perspective, one that included thundering jets and counting my blessings for my independence.
These were my thoughts as I beheld our local Independence Day celebration, held on the weekend, three days before our actual Independence Day, which meant we were, in effect, also celebrating Canada Day for our neighbors to the north. Happy Canada Day! Early celebrations are good because they give us more time to ponder what it is we're celebrating.
And as those jets flew by and those fireworks erupted the dark sky with bursts of light, I tilted my eyeglasses downward and let my bad eyesight change my perspective.
You see, I have crummy eyesight. The reasons are too long to mention. Suffice it to say, my vision is distorted enough, that lying on the floor and looking up into the Christmas tree is miraculous, and fireworks displays are awe-inspiring. Seriously. I found out that there are blessings in poor vision if I changed my perspective.
Here are two fables to support my theory--the changing perspective of two mothers--my husband's and my own.
Fable One: My mother was appointed to be the bicentennial chairman for our region. 1976. I was 11. Community service projects were organized. Speeches were given. Flags were flown. Monuments were raised. A grand ball was held, in period costume. My mother sewed a full colonial dress and bonnet for me, but the fabric's pattern was red with soldiers--not so authentic to the period, but hey, it was pretty cool, anyway. I still have it. My daughters wore it in their fifth-grade wax museums, as Abigail Adams and Martha Washington. My mom would have been proud.
My mom was patriotic. My mom saw the good in people. It was the same year the Teton Dam flooded, in June, in the midst of her bicentennial festivities. She paused the hoopla and volunteered for the Red Cross as a typist, helping to organize relief efforts from the gym at the high school while my father rounded up all of our earthly treasures and loaded them in the farm truck, preparing to drive to higher ground should the flooding reach our farm.
We listened to the emergency broadcast system on the radio for reports of the extent of the damage. I wondered how my mother would find us if we did, indeed, need to head for the foothills. It was 1976, youngsters, which means cell phones were on the list with UFOs and magic wands. When the wall of silty, slimy water had made an end of its destruction, our land remained clear of its reach. We felt grateful, yet guilty we'd been spared when so many others had not.
My mother and father drove the forty minutes to Sugar City every day to volunteer. They would come home with giant garbage bags full of clothing that belonged to nameless families. We took the mucky items and laid them out on the grass and sprayed them with the garden hose until they were clean enough to go in the washer and dryer. We folded and wrapped the loads of laundry in clean white newsprint, and the next day my parents would deliver them to their owners and come home with another truckload of muck.
At eleven years old, I thought how horrible it would have been for my brand new soldier-print dress to have met the mucky fate of the clothing shrouding the backyard. I needed a new perspective, but my mother had it right. She celebrated when the time was right, and rolled up her sleeves to deal with the muck when it was necessary.
Fable Two: My mother-in-law loves her home. She is 92 years old. She has lived a long life of rolling up her sleeves to help those around her. She raised seven children. She worked hard farming the land. She cared for her elders in their failing years. She cared for a husband with Alzheimer's. She painted countless paintings, filling her family's hearts and homes with the beauty of her perspective.
Yesterday, her family moved her into an assisted living facility. Instead of spending her days in the home she has known, she is embarking on a new adventure, finding a new independence, and finding a new perspective. She can see the family farm from her window, yet it is an entirely new way of looking at it. Right now, she feels she is dealing with the muck, but her perspective is changing, and soon she will look upon her independence and her new bedroom view with her discerning artist's eye and find beauty in it.
So, if you see me squinting at the furling of a flag, or a fireworks display, or Christmas lights, you'll know I'm changing my perspective to find the beauty with my messed-up eyesight. I'm making the most of it. My mother knew how. My mother-in-law does, too.
The next time you find yourself in a bleak situation, consider squinting at it until your perspective changes. A new way of looking at things can make all the difference.
Happy Independence Day! Let the thunder of patriotism rumble through you, too.
Comments