I’m convinced that it’s in the Parent Rule Book that we think our own children are amazing. Well, at least until they are teenagers. Our children are just so special that we wish everyone else could see them as we do. But are my children really as amazing as I think they are? Don’t get me wrong. I believe my children are absolutely fabulous! If only all children could be so sweet, smart, funny, and thoughtful. But my children don’t always make the honor roll. They aren’t perfect at all sports. They talk back. Often. They are hormone ridden, sweaty, moody teenage boys that occasionally froth at the mouth enough that I often warily anticipate the moment a demon emerges from their chest. So why do I still find them amazing? Am I just that good of a mom? Or it is the fact that I have a different outlook since the diagnosis? Is it that I finally realize that they don’t have to be the star athlete, or have the highest GPA, or keep their room immaculate, and never flip attitude to be great? I know this is a crazy concept. But maybe, just maybe, they are human too. Like us, they have bad days and have unexplained moods, yet deserve unconditional love.
It’s all about perspective.
I have been married to my high school sweetheart for over 21+ years. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. Does he do this every day? No. There are days where he makes me cry and even cuss a little. And there are days where I swear I could throat punch him. And enjoy it! At one point, I needed our marriage to look perfect on the outside to others. I was so busy furiously spackling and repairing the outside surface that the inside was deteriorating. Fortunately, we both realized what was happening and changed our perspective before it was too late. It was a seriously close call, but we work hard on our marrige, not the marriage we feel we need to portray to others We no longer care what others think. If I get “pissy” at him in church (not that that has EVER happened) and someone hears me? Well, I may not be proud of it, but I’m human and that’s just the way it is. Or if Craig says something completely insensitive to me (not that that has EVER happened) and someone notices? Well, he’s human and that’s just the way it is. And if Craig or I call the other out on said less than ideal public displays? Well, that is what it is too. Here’s the thing though. We always try to address the other one in a private, loving, and respectful manner (not that that always happens). In the past, we would most likely yell at the other one and worry more about being right and how others perceived us. I’d like to think we are now older and more mature. But honestly, we simply concern ourselves with how we perceive each other.
It’s all about perspective.
I now have a job that I absolutely love. I have started my own virtual home-based business and I truly enjoy it. Maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to quit my previous career if it wasn’t for TJ’s diagnosis and the need to be more “present” for my family. I always assumed I would work outside of the home. Working from home was never on my radar. That was until the diagnosis. Building my own business has been difficult. I have worked odd and long hours with little to no pay. I often wonder if I would have started my own business years ago, would I enjoy it as much as I do now? Do I appreciate my job now more because of my circumstances? Or is my job just that awesome? Maybe I’ll never truly know. But I choose to enjoy it and be grateful today.
It’s all about perspective.
After the diagnosis, I could have fallen to the floor, and given up. But instead, I fell to the floor, cried my eyes out, then eventually pulled myself up to my knees and asked God to open my eyes and heart to follow His direction. I even asked him to remove the anger I had towards him from my heart. I pleaded to God to help me deal with this new life. And He does daily. No, it doesn’t eliminate the heartache, the fear or the tears. We’re human and he never promised us an easy life. But I decided early on that nothing was going to steal our joy. I focus on my living Lord and Savior and his promise of eternal peace, love, and grace. I focus on Jesus’ sacrifice for me. And ultimately *that* is the most powerful perspective you can have. That’s where hope exists.
It’s all about perspective.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)