Learning to See

We’ve all seen images that represent more than one thing. We see something immediately and then we struggle to see the other image portrayed in the picture. When we are children, these images that fool the eye are great fun, and yet, we don’t always do a good job of carrying the lesson they teach us into adulthood. We forget that there is often more than one way to see something.

Our rigidity is a form of violence, not only violence against others whom we can only see in one way, but also violence against ourselves. By choosing to limit our ability to see and understand, we lose our capacity to grow. In essence, it is as if we have decided to enclose ourselves in a box in the dark, starving ourselves of any stimulation, any movement, anything that might lead us to change. If we actually did this to a child, or someone else we were caring for, we would be prosecuted for abuse. But when we figuratively do it to ourselves, no one will arrest us, but we still are guilty of violence against ourselves.

 Sometimes even when we know better, we let ourselves be influenced by an image that, if we paused to consider it, is inaccurate. Prior to an out of town trip, I made a to do list that had not just what needed to be done prior to leaving town, but also a list of projects, some of which were not due for several weeks. My reasoning was that I didn’t want to forget them. However, the day I made that list, every time I looked at it, I got anxious. It was long and I was leaving town and how would I get all that stuff done? I knew it didn’t all need to be done immediately, but the image of that long list still caused me anxiety.

 The next day I made the same list, but I put the immediate needs at the top, left a large blank section of paper, and put the longer term items at the bottom. The separation made a big difference in my stress level. The list was no different in content, but I saw it differently. There was more than one way to see the list but I had to take the time to allow myself to imagine It differently.

 Why are we so unwilling to expand our seeing, to use our imaginations to understand people and situations in different ways? What are we afraid of? Is our pride, our reputation so fragile that we are afraid of losing our identities if we change?

 Jesus says, in John 12:24-26:  I assure you that unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it can only be a single seed. But if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their lives will lose them, and those who hate their lives in this world will keep them forever. Whoever serves me must follow me.

 Jesus invites us to change. A seed “dies” to being a seed, and then bears fruit. Letting go of our certainty opens us up to new life, new seeing, and becoming more like Jesus. Change is a death of sorts, but it can be the death that leads us into a larger life, a life lived for others, a life that is not weighed down by the burden that pride places on us to be and act in ways that win the approval of others.

 A willingness to change, a desire to see things differently, and compassion toward self and others, can make the world a better place, a less violent place, a less angry place. Rather than sit around wishing for things to get back “to normal” so we can check things off our bucket lists, why not replace the bucket list with these three aims and find more joy and richer life bearing fruit in a world that needs more joy and less pride.