Tag Archives: perspective

Virtual coffee date

If we were having coffee this week, I’d let you in on a few things…

I’d tell you that it’s already been a week packed with doctors visits and hospital tests like usual, but something has shifted.  It shifted when I realized that despite checking “no” to all the tasks listed on Lucia’s 24-month questionnaire, I also got to check “no” to the question, “does anything about your child worry you?”  In the midst of moments where I could have been discouraged, I counted myself so blessed, because of the much needed perspective our daughter with special needs brings to our lives and my faith.

(Here’s another great perspective on children with disabilities I saw this week!)

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Countryside in Yunnan, China. Photo by Evan Schneider.

I’d also let you in on how incredibly thrilling it was to find an email in my inbox this morning entitled, “你好 from China” from a former student who with her broad interests in Native American culture, architecture, and history, I never thought would quite end up there!  She wrote,

“Also Professor Raffety, China is wonderful. Granted there are many moments of ‘ahh, what am I doing’ but those are minimal in comparison to my many moments of ‘ahh, so much goodness.’ My co-workers, new friends, are brimming with patience, generosity and a eagerness to converse and teach me. I’m sure you have experienced many of these same moments. And of course, the food is new, but oh so flavorful.

I hope all is well with you and your family, your faith and teaching.”

I’m tickled not just because she’s having this encounter with China that I once had that was so powerful and earth-shattering and meaningful but because there’s this subtle affirmation of my call that I also read in her generous words–some mutual recognition of something more than just teacher and student, something more like our vocational and spiritual lives intermingling for something greater.  She had me musing this morning, during a season when I’ve been lacking a bit of pedagogical inspiration, “See this is why I can’t not teach!”

And finally, I’d tell you that I really should be writing my sermon instead of this blog post, but that I think it can all pretty much be summed up in these words from Glennon Doyle Melton that speak to the curious balance of conviction and humility that it takes to live the Christian life:

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What are you up to this week?  Grab a cup of coffee and let me in on it!

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With open eyes

 

The President's garden in bloom.  Princeton University.  My photo.
The President’s garden in bloom. Princeton University. My photo.

A friend of mine recently posted the Wendell Berry poem below to her blog and the imagery and the message were of great wisdom to me.

My mother has become an avid birder later in life, and we like to tease her about her enthusiasm for spotting a new species and for being so invested in something as seemingly trivial as watching birds.

But there is a blue heron that lives down by the canal behind our apartment, and I have often gasped as he takes flight with his massive wings and graceful body.  Just the other day, my friend and I trolled the canal with our babies and laid eyes upon him.  I fretted because my fussy daughter is not always a great birder as her cries tend to scare the fowl away.  This time, though, as we drew closer and she cried, the heron took flight, and so we got to follow him down the course of the canal, witnessing his majestic flight not once, but many times over.

Birding is a habit of intention, and I believe it not only calls you to notice and alight upon things you wouldn’t have had you not been looking, but like any great practice, it also changes your perspective.  As I read this poem, I began to give thanks for all the ways God transforms our limited perspective if we are simply willing to withdraw from “the despair of the world” and “come into the peace of wild things.”  What grace there is in our everyday circumstances and in this world God has made, if we only look upon it with open eyes.

The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

by Wendell Berry