by L.D. Kirklin
Do You See What I See?
Once a week, I meet with a wonderful small group of friends for an evening of fellowship and prayer. Our favorite meeting spot is anywhere we can enjoy the great outdoors and a good fire pit. We spend hours catching up on the events of the week, recalling hilarious anecdotes from past gatherings, and creating new, hysterical memories that will undoubtedly resurface in the future.
Perhaps in this fast-paced, modern age of technology it seems archaic to simply sit around and talk, but I’ll tell you, there is something uniquely restorative about it. In fact, a good, in-person discussion among friends is something that no amount of technology – not even my camera – could ever replace. Together, we talk ourselves into fantastic journeys that take us down one rabbit hole after another, though few subjects get our adventures started faster than the subject of clouds.
Whether it is a lull in the conversation that brings it about, or simply someone’s random glance into the evening sky, we can be assured that laughter is coming when someone says, “Hey, that cloud looks like…”.
“A soaring alligator!”
“A duck chasing a monkey!”
“An old man with a long beard!”
“An elephant swimming the backstroke!”
Yes, the group knows that when someone directs our attention toward the sky, it’s the start of an interesting conversation that will take many random and comical turns before it comes back to where it began.
Of course, not everyone in the group shares the same imagination. Occasionally, it takes some explanation and even some hurried pointing to get each other to see the shapes before they change into something else. Are we always successful in our efforts to get each other to see what we see? No…but we sure have fun trying!
In a way, our “do you see what I see” efforts remind me of my early days of photography. When I started taking pictures, many moons ago, it was a great outlet for making sense of the world around me. Taking pictures helped me focus – pardon the pun – my hyperactive and traumatized brain on things that brought me joy instead of things that once hurt me. Suddenly, I had a way of seeing and capturing the good things in life and sharing them with other people. Things like simple moments in creation that would otherwise go unnoticed became what I shared so others could see what I saw.
Today, while I still enjoy sharing my photography, the years have taught me that some people simply cannot see what I see. Nothing I can do, say, show or otherwise will get some people to look through my lens – and while that is still difficult to understand, I’m learning to be okay with it.
It seems there will always be people who see the thorns of a rose instead of its beautiful color. There will always be someone who sees an Autumn leaf and instantly laments the onset of Winter. There will always be that person who sees a picturesque landscape and immediately complains about getting behind a tractor on a country road. After all, as the adage imparts, you can lead a horse to water, but you can make it drink.
Like photography, life has many important aspects to consider as we strive to take the best picture we can take. Still, the truth is that even when our focus is clear, our perspective is on point, and our lighting is impeccable, we will still be unsuccessful in getting some people to see what we see. We can hand pristine pictures of wisdom to the young people in our lives, and they will still make unwise decisions. We can hand detailed images of our faith to people who are seeking life’s purpose, and they will still walk away searching…and that is okay.
I know that life can’t always be as refreshingly relaxing as a small group conversation about clouds, but there is something to be learned from that chatter. To the disheartened parent who longs to reach a troubled child, to the faith-filled follower who longs to direct the paths of wayfaring strangers, remember: those who are meant to see your shapes in the clouds and hear the messages of your heart can only do so if you keep pointing and asking them, do you see what I see?
Never underestimate the power of perspective.
ldkirklin.com
