It wasn’t even 10 AM and I’d already enjoyed a robust self-TED-talk. Axel and I were on our morning stroll, which today meant navigating a kind of strangulated figure eight and we were coming back along a path we had already walked. On our first pass by the little angel figure we have seen countless times before, Axel (who was off his leash at the time… let’s just keep that to ourselves) made a sudden pouncing dash towards it with a manly woof, examined it carefully, and deemed it unthreatening. I chuckled out loud; it was, literally, an angel that seemed menacing to him.
On our way back, it didn’t even attract his attention.
What changed, I wondered. His point of view of it, approaching it from a different angle where he wasn’t presented with it head-on? Or was it just that his mood had changed, and he no longer perceived threats where they don’t exist? Perspective? Or frame of mind? What’s the difference?
I of course mused on that for a moment, milking it for its metaphorical value (that’s my super power). How often do I do that? Perceive threats that don’t exist, or interpret another’s words as offense where none is intended? And how easily might I change my outlook by simply circling around the situation… considering it from another perspective?
Is that what counselors call reframing?
I was reminded of a quote by Rachel Marie Martin that resonates with me: Sometimes you have to let go of the picture of what you thought it would be like and learn to find joy in the story you are actually living. I use my time on walks to pray, and today I found myself thinking of those words as I prayed over each of the situations and the people involved — health concerns, financial struggles, relational heartaches: please answer their prayers… fill them with the comfort and peace of your presence in the midst of their uncertainty, fear, and stress… ease their anxious thoughts… help them to find joy in their story in this day.
Along with inviting God’s presence into our daily lives, how do we do that? Maybe it starts in two ways: shifting our attitude and changing our perspective. Part of the path Axel and I walked today is a narrow asphalt trail between garages and backyards. Some of the way is lined with thoughtfully designed landscapes, some of it is fallow, untended dirt and the rest is overgrown weeds. I said to Axel, “wouldn’t it be great if everyone planted hollyhocks along this path?”
And then I could see it.
Boom. There it is. I could overlook the scene entirely. I could lament the unsightly patches along the path. Instead, I altered my view of the reality a smidge and found a moment of joy. Manufactured, yes. Imaginary, yes. Some may call it Denial. OK. But if it looks like joy, and feels like joy…. I’d call it joy.
It. Just. Doesn’t. Take. Much.
I have been reviewing the words of a hymn I’ve been asked to sing at a memorial service in a few days, Oh, Love that Wilt Not Let Me Go. Written nearly 150 years ago by a blind Scottish clergyman, it still speaks: Oh, joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee. I trace the rainbow through the rain, and feel the promise is not vain that morn shall tearless be. Tracing the rainbow through the rain seems to me to be the essence of what it means to find joy in the story I am actually living. And I think adjusting my angle on angels I encounter along the way is a good place to start.
“Sometimes you have to let go of the picture of what you thought it would be like and learn to find joy in the story you are actually living.”
Rachel Marie Martin
Karna Eastlund Haugen 
I appreciate your kind thoughts and hollyhocks along life’s pathway. God Bless you,dear Karna!
Karna, What a wonderful blog! You left me with lots of inspiration and plenty to think about. Thank you!