Perspective

December 8, 2018

Short and long term perspective can be quite different. I’m sitting in the back room by the fire, feeling quite cozy, grateful for that warmth that greeted me earlier when I came in from outside. The fire itself had died down, but a few pieces of kindling and a little work with the bellows, and it sprang back to life. The thermometer on the wall by the stove reads about 85; it’ll probably rise another ten degrees before it starts the slow overnight cool. I like sitting by the stove on a cold winter’s night.

But the other day I was thinking about what I’ve accomplished in life, and realize that anything worthwhile hasn’t come from sitting by the fire. It’s taken getting out into the cold, rising often before I really wanted to and keeping at it long after the weariness had set in. When I started writing about gratitude, Ann Voskamp, my inspiration in this adventure, talked about what she called “hard eucharistos,” those circumstances and events in our lives that are difficult and challenging; those times when it is too painful to go on, when the darkness is closing in and we’ve lost our way. 

As much as I enjoy sitting by the fire, it is only possible because someone cut and split the wood when it was cold. And in about an hour, I’ll bank the fire, don my Carhartts, and trek downtown where as a village trustee, I’ll join the mayor, the village clerk, and the other trustees, serving hot chocolate, coffee, and cookies to the families gathered in the village commons so their little kids can sit on Santa’s lap, pet his reindeer, and receive a small bag of candy. We’ll stamp our feet to get the blood flowing to the toes, hold our coffee in slowly numbing fingers, and give a little of ourselves away for the good of our community. Not exactly long term, but a bit more than where I am now.

If allowed, my grandkids will stay glued to their smartphones and video games for hours on end. When they stay overnight, Linda and I will often round the kids up, telling them that it’s time to actually DO something together. Board or card games follow, along with laughter and conversation. I tell them the same thing my father used to tell me: “You’ll never look back in twenty years and say, “Remember that great time we had watching TV?”” As tempting as that might be tonight, I’d rather look back on tonight and remember the faces of the little kids waiting in line for Santa, or the smiles of my friends on the village board as we stand together in the cold. It’s not because I’m a nice guy that I’ll be there. It’s because of the perspective of that hard eucharistos which isn’t really that hard, but for which I am thankful tonight.