Now We (Actually) Know Our ABC's:
An Alphabet for Mom
By Sarah Hart
P is for Perspective
A few weeks ago, there was (as usual) a mad rush one particular morning to get everyone dressed, washed and fed, with teeth brushed, shoes matching, lunches packed and backpacks in order by the 8:10 deadline of daddy hollering "Come on, girls! The train's leaving!" Everyone was shuffled out the door with hurried kisses and hugs, and I breathed the "thank you, Lord, we pulled it off again" sigh of relief as everyone waved on their way out of the driveway. I ran upstairs to take a shower so I could get somewhere by 9:30, overly frustrated and harried, to say the least.
As I was getting ready, I flipped on CNN for just a moment to reacquaint myself with the world (moms forget the world sometimes) and, with horror I watched a woman half a world away weeping over three caskets, hugging them one by one. In the caskets were the bodies of her husband and two little girls, killed during the conflict between Russia and Georgia. I sat down on the floor and started weeping, too. In the same breath, I was praying for this woman I would likely never know, and asking God to forgive me, ashamed of myself for my lack of perspective. I was sure she would have laid down her own life to have one more harried, frustrated morning with her husband and children.
Lisel Mueller, one of my all-time favorite poets, writes this in her poem, In November: "Perhaps a woman I do not know is facing the day with a heavy heart that, by all rights, should have been mine." Indeed.
Moms complain. It's hard not to, sometimes. It's part of the gig. These days I am trying so very much to, in all those frustrations and harried times, to say "thank you Jesus." I don't always succeed, but I will keep trying. A little perspective goes a long way.
