Ellen told me a story the other day.
A woman she knew was sleeping one night when her house caught fire. She ran from room to room in her house, gathering her five children and getting them out of the house safely, all the while oblivious to the fact she had gone to bed nude. As she stood on the neighbor's lawn, her five babies gathered safely around her, she watched in horror as her house was engulfed in flames, looking on as everything she owned was eaten by the fire. In that moment, a firefighter approached her and offered her his long coat. And in that moment she discovered that she, indeed,
was not covered.
She hurriedly accepted the coat as a rush of embarrassment overcame her. So great was her shame that she retreated to the emergency vehicle with her children, keeping her eyes downcast. Consumed by her shame, she no longer thought of all that she was losing, but focused on avoiding eye contact with the firefighters.
I can't stop thinking about that story. How could someone's focus be shifted so instantly from something that was literally all consuming, to something that truly, in the grander scheme, did not really matter?
I have been examining my life trying to see where my focus is.
Is it where it should be?
Is my house on fire while I fret over my naked insecurities?
As I played with Tessa's picture in the photo editor tonight, I cropped out everything that wasn't her sweet face. I brought out the light that was already there, and then, last of all, I softened my focus, so that what really matters
is what I can see most clearly.