Perspective

Yesterday was not a good day. I cried a lot; I felt despair come surging my way.

In the evening, Lyndsay had a meeting at the Stake Center, so I drove her down, and being all puffy-eyed, I sat in the car for the hour and a half and did my menu plan and grocery list for the week. I moved to the backseat of the van so nobody would see me in there. I just wanted some time alone.

Every now and then, I looked up from my list making to watch people arriving in their cars and walking through the parking lot towards the church. Some I recognized, others I did not. At one point, my attention was drawn to a woman, head bent down, walking ever so slowly. She was older than I am, but I didn't think she was old enough to be walking with such trouble. I felt sorry for her as I watched her. She was in the parking lot aisle over from me, so I couldn't see all of her, just her waist up, but she looked like she'd been pretty in her youth, and continued to take good care of herself. I wondered if her hips hurt, or her back, or what it was that compromised her mobility, and I thought how frustrating it must be for her to get anything done during the day at such a snail's pace. I went back to my menu.

About an hour later, that same woman came walking back through the parking lot, this time in the same row I was parked in. She was still walking with care, head bent down, one slow step at a time. But this time, I could see all of her.

Attached to her hand was another hand, a little tiny one, maybe that of an 18 month old, or two year old child. She was walking with a little child, slowing her steps to allow the toddler to take her own. Her head was bent down to watch over the child as she took each careful beginning step. I think she was a grandma.

And seeing the whole picture changed my entire perspective. Likewise, there must be so much to my picture that I just can't see, and I must trust that someone is holding my hand.