Two Sides to Every Story

Big Girl is playing goalie in her soccer game tomorrow. This is her first time playing that position. To get ready, she's having Little Girl try to score on her in the front yard. After their first practice as such, they each came to me separately to tell me how it went. Here's a rough approximation of what was said:

Big Girl: When we were practicing, Little Girl hardly scored on me at all! I stopped her almost every time!

me: Wow! That's fantastic! Great job!

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Little Girl: When we were practicing, I scored on Big Girl three whole times!!

me: Wow, sweetie! I'm so proud of you! Great work!

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At first, I thought that these stories didn't really line up with each other. One story told of the fantastic goalie, the other of the amazing scoring player. Then I realized that it's all a matter of perspective; to Big Girl, stopping almost every shot is her goal - to Little Girl, making a goal on her big sister is what she dreams of. Each girl felt she had accomplished her goal. Both girls were thrilled with the result.

There are definitely lessons to be learned here. For one, the things we see in life are greatly dependent on our perspective. For example, what passes for poverty in America would be considered outrageous wealth in a third-world country. How poor is someone, really, if they have shelter and food, but no cell phone? Or if you don't have money for cable or satellite in your house?

I remember clearly the day Soccer Dad and I went to Dunn River Falls in Jamaica on our honeymoon. We were supposed to ride a bus from Montego Bay to Ochos Rios, which is normally just about an hour. However, there is a town in between the two, right on the road, which at the time we were there had not had fresh water for two or three months. (Apparently, the local government had something to do with shutting it off.) So they were rioting. Big time. Like, burning cars in the street kind of riots.

Needless to say, our bus was turned around. So we wound up making a four hour journey through the mountains of Jamaica to go from Montego Bay to Ochos Rios. While I remember the climb up the Falls, I remember even more the domiciles we saw on our way through the mountains. I saw families living in shacks smaller than my shed - and in worse shape, too. I saw patched-together homes with cardboard and castaway sheet metal tacked on to keep the rain out. I saw abject poverty such as I'd never witnessed outside of Sally Struthers' commercials.

I looked at my new husband and said, "I will never complain about our home. Ever."

Yes, there are times when I complain about whatever corner-cutting the previous owner did and the many non-code things that keep being discovered in our home that the inspector seemed to have missed somehow. But I don't complain about the house. We live in a veritable mansion. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths. Kitchen, family room, living room. Hot water. Heat in the winter (including a gas fireplace), A/C in the summer. A POOL, for cryin' out loud! We're so blessed it's completely ridiculous!

When I see people complaining because they don't have one luxury or another, I feel kind of bad for them. I've seen people who really lack in the basics, and I can't complain about my home. It's fantastic!

Do you see yourself as blessed, too?







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