One Sunday morning, at the crack of dawn, my youngest child came jumping into
my bed. Laughingly, he plied at my groggy eyes and smothered my cheeks with wet
kisses as he tried to entice me to wake up and begin an adventurous day.
At first I didn't even bother to acknowledge his presence, hopeful that he'd
return to his own bed. It took several minutes and several grunts on my part
before I was ready to give up my early morning snooze. But eventually, as usual,
his enthusiastic demeanor was contagious and he won me over. I succumbed to his
pleas and sat upright in bed.
Enthusiastically, he skipped off the short distance to his bedroom, returning
seconds later with a storybook to read aloud to him. Cuddling under my cozy
blanket covers, we perused the book together, examining its colorful pictures
and imagining how the plot would unfold.
Before long, the sun rose and began peaking through the large bay windows on
the southern wall of my bedroom. Soon, the sun was shining brightly and after a
few moments, its brilliant glare blinded us from continuing further.
Undeterred, my son raised his small hands and placed his stubby fingers right
in front of his eyes, blocking the sun's powerful rays.
"See," he announced. "My hand blocks the sun."
"Yes," I agreed.
Pensively, he continued, "That's because my hand is much larger than
the sun."
To prove his point, he cuddled closer to me and placed his hands before both
of our eyes, obscuring from us the sun's glare.
"See," he demonstrated. "My hand blocks the sun's light
because it is larger than the sun."
I giggled at his reasoning before explaining. "No, honey. The sun is
much larger. Your hand is only able to block the sun's rays because you are
putting your hands right in front of your eyes, so your eyes no longer see the
sun."
"You see," I continued, "things that are closer to you always
seem larger than those that are farther away."
We then compared the sizes of different objects in my bedroom. Together we
looked at the dresser that seemed so small from afar, but much larger once we
placed our hands on it. And, though from a distance, the bedside lamp, the
hanging mirror or the picture frames appeared smaller than my son's hand, as
we approached them we saw how each was really much larger.
For a little while, until it was time to get busy with the chores of the day,
we walked around the room, placing our hands on each item, noting their
sizes from different vantage points.
As the day continued and all sorts of issues and pressures that arise in day
to day living came up, I tried to apply the lesson that I taught my youngster
that morning.
The closer an object or issue is to you, the less objectivity you have in
measuring its correct size or importance. Far too often a problem looms so
large, masking its real size or blocking other meaningful issues.
Take a step back to analyze whether small issues in your life are obscuring
the whole picture.
Push the problem a small distance away so that its real dimensions -- and often,
insignificance -- surface.
Maybe that lesson was even worth losing my early Sunday morning snooze over.
