“No, Ma’am,” he said. “The view is better from here.”
Anonymous
Listening to a local music artist sing while folks shopped around the market square, I overheard the conversation an older lady had with the vocalist. “You need to go make a name for yourself. Nashville isn’t far from here. There are so many opportunities outside of this place. You need to go be a part of the fame!” As I listened, my heart sank a little, thinking about how I would feel if that were the advice someone gave my son. I thought of the hometown pleasures we delight in daily: The small-town honest ways of handshakes for a fence deal, and or shop owners setting items back until I get back, smiles from strangers, and three-car traffic jams (usually someone you know). I sat thinking of the years I had prayed for a place like this for my kids. Listening to someone trying to convince a young kid that life was better among the skyscrapers and concrete, where the stars were hidden, and strangers were commonplace, was hard to agree with. Yet, his remark made me smile. “No, Ma’am. I have been to Nashville. The view is better from here.
I looked like a dehydrated camel who hadn’t had a drink in forty days.
Personal
“I will only be gone for a couple of days,” My husband, Chuck, said to me. “It shouldn’t be too much to handle.” In forty-eight hours, the oven and water heater both went out. I had three cold and hungry kids on my hands. I snatched a frozen pizza from the freezer, threw it in the microwave, and washed the kids with a cold washcloth. In case you have ever wondered, you cannot make a batch of brownies on the stovetop. The cries were endless, and the laundry mounted. The animals were cared for, and sleep found me despite the oven and water heater. When Chuck pulled in the drive, I looked like a dehydrated camel who hadn’t had a drink in forty days. A few weeks ago, we ran into the realtor who sold us our home. She asked how we liked it. Chuck said, “I am not mad anymore that you persuaded me to buy a house over the phone. The view is better from here.”
The school called about trouble with my child. I responded, “Well, she causes me trouble at home too, but I don’t call you.”
Anonymous
The fog drifted in like a silent night. I watched as daylight began to glimmer, the fog drifted through the trees and lifted off the road, revealing winding roads through the hills. I was finishing writing recipes for pen pals across the United States. I wrote each one carefully. As I penned the ingredients, I smiled to myself, thinking of the recipient. They are going to believe these cinnamon rolls happen flawlessly, and ducks waddle through my front yard at sunset. The picture of our last baking attempt flashed through my mind. I had three kids hovering over me while I was reading the directions as if I had never seen them before. The recipe was a gift from a dear friend at Christmastime a few years ago. It came packaged in a beautifully decorated box with a tea candle and recipe book. How does the view get better than that? The pages are smudged with cinnamon and butter from sticky fingers as we flip the cookbook often.
I could see Charlotte’s face covered in flour as she leaned in to lick the mixer, which was still in motion. “Charlotte, NO!” I exclaimed. Tyson drops a stick of butter on the kitchen floor, and Eva tries to salvage it by putting it back in the mixing bowl. “Don’t do that!” I yelled. All I wanted was to get out of my robe and into actual clothes, yet I was running interference over the mixer and ingredients. My frustration was mounting when I turned to see Eva helping Tyson on his stool as he stood on his tiptoes trying to see into the bowl, and Charlotte’s fingers were covered in dough. All of them were squeezed into the corner by the kitchen counter. Flour and ingredients covered the countertops and the wood floor. Yet, I decided the view was better from right where I was standing.
Charlotte, why are you wearing a party hat, and where did you find it?
Personal
As I write at my desk tucked in my little nook upstairs, instrumental Christmas music plays while my mini-Christmas tree twinkles with color. An old Santa figurine sits on my shelf next to a small snow-covered pine tree. Eva is downstairs watching Charlotte and Tyson. I can hear her telling Charlotte, “If you don’t stop, I’m telling Mom!” Footsteps are pounding down the hall, and the barrier meant to keep them out from upstairs is being broken. Charlotte is tiptoeing up the stairs as if I don’t know she’s coming. She leaned in around my desk, wearing a party hat that heaven only knows where she got it. “Where did you get the party hat?” I asked. “I found it, and I found one for you, too.” She proceeded to put the party hat on my head as well (with the elastic string popping my cheekbones). I quickly found that the view was better from under a celebration hat.
Time is what we want the most, but what we use the worst.
William Penn
It was a long trip down to see Chuck’s family. Charlotte couldn’t wait. She knew the zoo was going to be the next day. “Is it going to be tomorrow, Mom?” I am going to see the elephants!” Nana had the girls with her and Chuck, and I drove behind. They were so excited. Paw-Paw, as the grandchildren lovingly call him, had a late shift at work the night before and needed rest. He wasn’t going to be able to join us. When we pulled up, we saw Paw-Paw getting out of the car. I asked, “I thought you weren’t coming with us to the zoo?” He responded, “Well, I got to thinking about it and thought if ya’ll could come all this way to see us, I could fight through the sleepiness and spend some time with you.” I smiled at his love. The day had been beautiful all morning. Then, right before entering the zoo, the clouds rolled in.
Only a few workers and a couple of other misinformed members of the public were inside the entire park. It was like watching the animals two by two through the flood. We trudged along through the rain, admiring elephants as they ate with their noses and sprayed water into their mouths like a fire hydrant. Charlotte’s eyes danced with amazement, and Tyson jumped up and down with wonder. None of us had seen an elephant drink up close like that. We counted it as God’s goodness through the rain. We watched as the lions roared at each other and tackled one another in their fierce way. Soaking wet and squishy shoes, but full of joy. We found laughter in the rain.
When we made it back home that night with Tyson sound asleep after a fun, wet day of chasing lions, tigers, and bears. Charlotte told us how thankful she was to have seen the elephants.
Before bed, Eva asked why the joy was better at home, even when she had so much fun. I thought of what Anne Shirley said, “It’s lovely to be going home and know it’s home.” I looked at the girls, “Because the view is always better from home.”
He is our hero and BIG protector!
Charlotte Howard
Eva came crying down the hall and fell into the living room. Tyson jumped on top of her and patted her face. I asked what in the earth was wrong?! Through the tears, she screamed, “My toe, my toe! I stubbed my toe around the door!” Charlotte, wide-eyed, ran over to me and demanded, “Mom! Call daddy! He is our hero and big protector! Hurry! Call him!” Although not a reason to call Daddy home from work, I loved the view from Charlotte’s eyes, even through Eva’s tears and Tyson’s innocence.
Salty has to be reminded she is a horse, not a unicorn.
Brittney Lawley
“When you get to Natchez Trace, Patty will be tied to the trailer. Just saddle up and come looking for us down the trail by the waterfall. Now, she will bury her head for a few bucks, but she will come right back to you. Don’t worry. No more than a few jumps and she’ll be back.” Dad is full of dry humor. I laughed at his antics.
Salty, the horse dad was riding, tried to act up a couple of times. Dad corrected it swift and sure. Brit leaned over. “Kris, it’s just that Salty has to be reminded she is a horse, not a unicorn.”
It was finally my turn to ride Patty Cakes. I had been waiting three years for this opportunity. My eyes were drawn to her the first time I saw Dad lead her into the horse trailer as a long yearling, a muddy buckskin, and lovely in every way.
I was not disappointed by her abilities, but spoiled. She walked on with a mission; easy, light mouthed, and waiting for my direction, which I found hard to navigate at first. She was eager to please, and I did my best to accommodate her. Dad followed up, “She isn’t personable, but she will take care of you.” Through the falling leaves and sounds of squirrels chasing after acorns, Patty and I shared a sandwich and chips over lunch. She smelled around my face and clothes. I heard dad say, “That’s her handshake, her bond“. He told me, “I have never seen her do that with anyone, much less share their lunch.” The pleasure was all mine.
I took one look at the steep ravine and was ready to bow out. My sister, Brittney, knew it. I could hear her from behind me, “Well, Kris, you can get off. No one will think less of you except dad. Or you can trust your horse. It’s your choice.” I asked her once if the places Dad had taken her ever scared her. She told me, “Yes. I was so scared at times I wanted to cry, but I knew I couldn’t. I knew Dad would never take me anywhere that Mr. Ed wouldn’t take care of me. And he always did.” About that time, Dad bellowed, “Ya’ll comin’ or not?!” I pointed Patty’s head in the direction I wanted her to go and trusted her to get me there. She tucked her butt underneath and sat in low gear, guiding me ever so gently down deep ravines and up the other side. I smiled as each fear fell behind me.
I missed a craft fair that Saturday and the opportunity to sell books, but I told Dad and Brit the view was better. I wouldn’t have missed it.
What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.
Hellen Keller
I finished the trail ride around my grandma’s table. Many familiar faces greeted me, yet I found it strange to visit and not be welcomed by Grandpa with a kiss and a hug. We had supper at the dining room table. Grandpa’s seat was left empty. I could tell this bothered my dad. Life is in the living, and we cannot stop because we have to say goodbye. “Mama,” he said boldly. “It seems only right that you sit in Daddy’s seat now.” She paused, then sat down. At that moment, time moved forward. The view was different as grandma took grandpa’s seat; not to take his place, but changing the view so it was no longer empty, but full.
Well, mine told me not to starve, so it looks like we both got an education.
Newsies
Moms are not supposed to get knocked down by the flu. Yet, that is where I found myself. Eva took care of me while her daddy was at work. She watched over Charlotte and Tyson without ever complaining. Thinking of a way to say “Thank You,” I saw that our high school theatre department was putting on one of our favorite movies, “Newsies.” This was a perfect way to show my appreciation. “Oh, Mom,” she said, “I would have done it for nothing. I love you.” Knowing this about her made the treat even more delightful. Eva leaned over during the performance and said, “My heart has been pounding all day because I knew I got you all to myself for three whole hours.” The view from our seats showed more than a stage performance. It showed the value of time.
Lord, make me useful.
Jim Stockdale
Talking with my father, he said, “Fame is demanding and dangerous.” “I like the cheap seats,” I told him. Bing Crosby in the movie “Holiday Inn” wouldn’t move to Hollywood to sell his play. He told them they could have it, but he wasn’t going. He had found what he wanted out of life. My father added, “To some, the people may be smaller than you see in the fame, but not the view. Lord, make me useful to satisfy my need to be valued, but let me buy another bag of popcorn and listen to the announcements while the grand entry passes by, because the view is better from here.
Then He turned to His disciples and said privately, “Blessed are the eyes which see the things you see. Luke 10:23
