Perspective

In my Sunday School class, we've been looking at the miracles of Jesus which were recorded in more than one Gospel. Every week we're reminded how much our perspective plays into what we remember; what we focus on, and what we retell. And every week I'm reminded of an illustration my sixth grade teachers orchestrated to convey this message. As an educator now myself, I'm not sure you could get away with this in today's classroom but it made a lasting impression on me; heightening my attention to detail and reminding me of the importance of perspective.

As we sat in class that day, bent over our social studies work, the door suddenly burst open, a masked man entered, ran up to the teacher's desk, grabbed her purse, and ran back out. Of course we were in shock. Because our school was experiencing growing pains, our classroom was one of two in a modular. Our teacher called in the other sixth grade teacher (who was in on the fun) and they played the scene of their lives in front of us. Discussing what action should be taken next, they asked each of us to write what we saw, presumably for the police report. They pretended to call the main office to report a masked man and a missing purse. All I remember is that I was too scared to write, had no details to report, and just wanted to leave the room. After several students shared their experience, the teachers finally admitted that it had been a set up. The "stranger" was really our teacher's husband and the purse was safe and sound. So was the lesson on detail and perspective.

A conversation with my mom this weekend brought this home. She reads my blog (Hi, Mom) and I'm sure has her eyes opened as she reads my perspective on past events. She said she was particularly interested in reading about my teen-age trip to Europe. She asked if I remembered the interrogation Kym and I received after returning from our trip of a lifetime. Sorry, I did not happen to remember this piece of the story. Between fits of laughter she said that she and Kym's mom insisted on seeing our tan lines. Apparently one of the postcards that did make it home before us had mentioned our day trip to one of those famous European topless beaches. Kym and I had written that we were the only two females on the beach who wore not only one-piece bathing suits, but T-shirts to cover even more. Our moms just wanted to be sure. I think there's a good reason the 15 year old me blocked that part of the story from my mind.

Perspective, it changes things.

You know, I'm teaching Sunday School in a few weeks, another installment in this series on perspective in the Gospels. Maybe I should set up a purse snatching illustration for the class?

Nah. We're getting kind of old. Better not to risk a heart attack.