I oft think of Corrie Ten Boom's story of her sister Betsy giving thanks for the fleas in the barracks of the concentration camp where they were being held. The fleas, you see, kept out the guards. With the guards outside, they were able to speak of, share, and practice their faith. When it comes to the idea of perspective, I am fairly sure that her story is the single, most profound object lesson of all time. I mean, who would ever, ever, ever think of being thankful for fleas.
Eons ago, back when I was in high school, I baby sat at a house that was infested with fleas. Completely. Utterly. There I was, sitting on the couch reading to my young charge and a bit of movement caught my eye. When I realized it was a flea, I smashed it as quickly as possible. I had not a single moment of relief for another and then another hopped on the book, on the couch, on our bodies. In mere seconds, I realized trying to kill them all was a futile endeavor. Being acutely sensitive to insect bites, in short order I was miserable. It took all my resolve to not flee the house and leave the child behind. Strange thing was, his parents didn't seem to notice when they got home, even though my exposed skin was riddled with bites. I was weeks recovering from all the bites I suffered.
So, the idea of being thankful for fleas is literally unfathomable for me. And yet she was. Perspective.
Betsy counted the opportunity to serve others a privilege. Only her privilege was wrapped in an near unimaginable cross. I have been thinking of late that the heart of true privilege might always be so wrapped, in some fashion or another.
Lately, I have spent time with someone battling obsessive compulsive disorder as a part of her struggle with Asperger's. Doing so has been difficult at times. In order to be around her, I have to change my own habits, disregard my own preferences. Sometimes, this is rather easy to do. Sometimes, honestly, it is not. I suppose you could say the old Adam moves strongly within me and I long to just set down the burden of being vigilant to guard against her triggers. They make no sense. Why must my phone and iPod always be turned faced down? Why can I not say the word "shark"? Why must the microwave timer never reach zero? These things are harmless. Why all the fuss? I sometimes long to retort. Only they are not...to her. They harm her...her mind, her body, her spirit.
What I admire about her is that she is so direct. She is bold to speak her needs. She is quick to protect herself. Being with her has been a blessing. And it has been a privilege.
Because of the memory loss and cognitive dysfunction I face, I have far, far more patterns in my life now than even a year ago. When I walk in the door, I immediately hang my keys on the coat rack. If I do not, I can spends hours...even days...looking for them. I now hold my bills in my hand until I have set them up on bill pay. If I set them down between mailbox and computer, even if it is right next to the computer, I will forget about them. I have alarms set on both my phone and my iPod telling me things to do all day. So much of my life is instructions, routines, or alarms. I need for people to not only help me in the remembering department, but I also need for people to not interrupt the coping mechanisms I utilize, whether or not they make sense to them. More so, I really need for them to understand. I need to not be alone in the battles I face. It is rather exhausting keeping track of the things in your life that most people get to ignore.
That's where she excels. This young woman is quite skilled at communicating the whys and wherefores of her needs. Confidently. Matter-of-factly. Without shame. Would that it were I had her strength, her courage, her peace.
Living with her has been lesson upon lesson, blessing upon blessing...with the right perspective. It is hard for me to remember things. When I am exhausted or when my blood sugar is low, I am less capable of remembering, less capable of being rational even. I have struggled so much with the past and remaining in the present. I truly do not need more work in my life. Yet that work has been a privilege.
Perspective is most certainly a good gift from our Creator, our Redeemer, our Sanctifier.
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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