Temporary perspective

Yesterday I went for a ride on the London Eye for the first time. We have a friend, Maria, staying from the States and her visit incentivised us to do a couple of very touristy things that we’ve never done before.

(we were in the next door pod)

It was a very clear day, and as we slowly rose above the ground in our plastic bubble, we could see for miles. Huge historic buildings began to look like dolls houses; teeny, tiny red buses crossed the Thames on matchstick bridges; Big Ben was little Ben to us.

At the top of the rotation, I had a sudden sense of grief that I couldn’t stay up there. The world looked small and tidy and manageable from a few hundred metres above. I liked it.  Perspective.
But down we came, and fortunately, because there is no toilet in the pod and I have a weak bladder.
Our perspective on the world changes and only sometimes do we have the chance to see the lay of the land. A lot of the time we are groping, a step at a time, our ears straining for the voice that says, “this is the way, walk in it. I am the way, the truth and the life. Trust in me. Remain in me. Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.”

I STRUGGLE with the shifting of my perspective. I lurch around enough to give a seasoned sailor sea sickness. One minute I see things one way, the next they are upside down and painted in a whole different colour scheme. I would like to sit high up and see it all as God must see it. But I can’t, and so I am trying to fix in my mind certain truths- certain unchanging facts- about what is around me, and to enjoy glimpses of the horizon when I find myself on giant ferris wheels.