Lisa Whittle

The Gift of Perspective

Aug 15

I’m convinced that sometimes we all just need a little change in perspective.

It helps us see things more clearly.

Complain less. Care more. Become open.

My recent trip to El Salvador with Compassion International did that for me. I wrote about it HERE.

Even now, I find myself thinking about the experience when I least expect it. Today, I found a brand new pair of kids shoes in my garage that my son never wore but outgrew — crisp, white, and trendy. I wonder if the little boy I saw playing kickball in the muddy sewer water ever had a pair of shoes like that. I already know the answer, and I feel wasteful.

I want a new lamp for my living room. I reflect back on the mud-floored shelters filled with the pungent smell of earth but void of electricity, and the new lamp seems ridiculous.

It rains, and I refuse to leave my garage until I locate my favorite umbrella to cover me. Unwarranted pictures flash in my brain of a metaled makeshift roof meant to cover a family of 5, yet inadequate to prevent waterfalls to flow through it’s gaps, unrestricted. I visualize the full-sized mattress 3 teenagers call their bed, directly underneath the falls and in constant jeopardy of becoming soaked during rainy season. Suddenly, I’m thankful for my cluttered garage, that I have enough money to buy an umbrella at all, and a roof that’s not leaky.

Scripture verses also hold new meaning for me since my trip. Just this week I read these 11 words in Psalm 86:4… “Give me happiness, O Lord, for my life depends on you.” Immediately, my mind drifts to a young girl of 16 named Veronica. I doubt I’ve seen such a big smile in all my life. I’m taken aback by her joy, especially after I learn of her story.

She shouldn’t be happy. Her home is not beautiful. Her world is not bright. Her mother is not present. Her grandfather is not nice. Her dress is not stylish. Her feet are not clean. She has a cot for a bed, a hole for a toilet, and skinny dogs begging her for food she does not have to give.

Yet she smiles.

And I feel spoiled.

I think about how her life depends on God. Every breath of it. I wonder how she has survived for this long, in her circumstances. Yet in my heart, I know.

He gives her life.

I cry at the thought – the sheer availability of Someone so powerful. The thoughtfulness. The care.

And I remember…not only the people that I met and left behind in El Salvador, but those I meet and others I won’t who share my same Savior.

And I feel thankful. For hope. For love. For joy. For life.

For perspective.

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