More Perspective

Check the local news on any given day (I avoid it at all costs) and you will never be at a loss to find stories of people who have lost their lives unexpectedly. After all, do any of us expect it when we wake up in the morning? Those people who lost their lives at a CTA Station last night in Chinatown (Chicago)... did they expect to live their last day yesterday?

Today I came face-to-face with a woman who is almost jumping out of her skin because she is so happy to be alive. She radiates sheer joy like a sweet-toothed kid in an overstocked candy store-- "simply" because she is alive and walking amongst the living.

She is in her 70's at least, and very recently was diagnosed with Stage 4 ovarian cancer. She has had surgery and is about to begin another round of chemotherapy this week-- likely losing her hair with this round.

As if this woman wasn't already a complete joy to be around (her passion for architecture and art and people and the world naturally draw people to her), imagine what it must be like now to be around her when she is having a "good day" (health-wise) and is able to be mobile and go out and live? It is like something out of a movie. Magnetic and extraordinary to be around.

Her name is Aileen. And she has shown me another portrait of PERSPECTIVE (as God continues to do this year).

I hope she wins this battle. I hope that if her body doesn't, that her spirit will withstand the blow of the chemotherapy this week and the next and the next. But regardless of what story her next life chapters will tell, this woman's influence on our world has been a wonderful one. I've heard it a thousand times in my life, but she said to me today, "Every day is a gift."

Chew on that for awhile. What do we do when someone gives us a precious gift? Don't we give thanks to the gift-giver and then try to take as good care of that gift as possible? "Don't scratch it!" "Hold it carefully, it might break!" and so on?

After I talked with Aileen today, I thought, I want to treasure my day as if it had been momentarily taken away from me. When I walk, I want to imagine that I hadn't been able to walk for awhile. How does it feel now to walk --and how much more do I appreciate these legs of mine? How does it feel to be outside and feel a Chicago breeze? And so on. Oh, how melodramatic I can get-- but how UN-melodramatic it truly is.

I wish you could've seen Aileen for yourself today. My description doesn't do her justice.

But hopefully, her story will help at least a small bit in aligning your perspective.