Don't Forget to Look Up

I stumbled on the grass near the volleyball court, waving my flashlight in erratic patterns as Rob called to me. "I already looked there, and I don't know why you're out here if you can't even see!"

A fool's errand, to search blindly in darkness for glasses. The missing glasses were expensive, graduated bifocals that I wear constantly, except when I sport their counterpart sunglasses. I had worn the dark lenses to our "recent grad" potluck at the park and expected to find my normal eyewear on the counter at home when I returned, exhausted and ready to veg in front of the TV. Instead, Rob and Aden helped me scour the house and both cars, while neighbors helped by turning on car headlights and sweeping the foliage.

I gave up the ghost at 11pm and wrote a sticky-note reminder to call for an eye appointment, falling asleep with the grim certainty that I was losing my mind in the lead-up to William's departure for college. The next morning, I turned on all the lights in the house and wore my sunglasses inside while looking again, this time adding the microwave, fridge and trash can. Rob suggested another check at the park and I went out to the garage, where my glasses case sat innocently on top of my car, with the missing requisite lenses inside.

How could we have searched both cars repeatedly and failed to notice the dark case perched on the roof? Yes, it was night, but we turned the lights on in the garage. We knew I had put the glasses case down (especially after checking multiple Ring video segments) but we forgot to look up. We missed out on both the glasses and a peaceful evening.

My brother James tells a poignant story about looking up. The day after my father passed away, James went for a walk outside, struggling to contain his tears. Not only had Dad died the night before, but a young deer had huddled against the house that morning, wounded in the leg, and a ranger had come out  with a shotgun. James felt optimism draining away and his steps were uncertain in the pale light of early morning. Then he heard Dad's voice, loud and clear. "Look up!" Dad said, and James obediently raised his eyes to the beautiful Mission Mountains, the eagle flying above, the swans on Flathead Lake. 

James says that voice shook him awake, revived him to the beauty and hope alive in the world. I forgot to look up and stumbled around blindly in the dark, missing the object I most desired. What are you looking for? Where does your gaze fall? It makes a difference. As I prepare to send William to CU, I need to keep focus on his excitement, on new possibilities and growth, and not gaze at his empty bedroom or his place at the table. No matter what happens to us, we choose where to focus our gaze. Whether half-blind or farsighted, the direction of sight is most important.