The Telescope
One day, when I was a child, Dad brought a telescope home from work. Heavy, made of brass, it was a piece of official equipment from a friend who had been in the Royal Navy. I could peer into it and something lost in the blurry distance would come into focus, as clear as my hand.
I no longer have that telescope, but now, it seems, I have another telescope of sorts. It is a telescope-of-the-mind. I point it at an incident from long ago, and it comes sharply into focus. The details, the feelings are as clear as the day they happened.
Here is one such incident that brought back feelings of failure and shame. I believe everyone has these feelings of regret at some time or another.
My head surfaced again. I pushed forward for another stroke. Gasp! Thrust! Gasp! Thrust! Determination drove me on to the goal. I inhaled a splash. Spluttering and coughing, I did a frantic doggy paddle until I could grab the side of the pool. Panting and burping, I edged, hand over hand to the shallow end, clambered exhausted and nauseated up the steps and stood with my classmates. I had failed! We clasped our arms around ourselves, dripping and shivering, while our instructor wrote the results on her chart. At last she told us we could get our towels and go to the change room.
A few weeks later, in the school auditorium, I sat comfortably in the middle of the third row of grey canvas stacking chairs. The hymn had been sung, the reading read, the Lord’s Prayer recited and it was announcement time.
“And now it is my pleasure,” proclaimed Miss Pipe, “to award badges and certificates of merit to those girls who successfully completed the requirements for swimming proficiency – 25 yards of continuous breaststroke.”
I relaxed. Hands in the lap of my green gingham school uniform dress, I settled back to daydream, thankful I would not have to go up on stage.
“Linda Spencer, Vivian Newby and Edwina Perkins, please make your way forward onto the platform,” intoned our headmistress.
Each girl obediently rose from her seat, sidled down her row, walked up the aisle, climbed the steep steps, shook hands with Miss Pipe, received her badge and certificate and made her way back to her seat.
I clapped politely for each one, secure in the knowledge I would not be called.
“Sally Cuthbert, Andrea McDonald and Sheila Batty,” called our headmistress.
Suddenly blood flooded my face and sweat wet my palms. My legs trembled as I stood and grabbed the chair back in front of me. My brain fired in indecision and confusion. I inched along the row. The knees of the girls still sitting knocked into the backs of mine. Then I heard ‘rrrrrriiip’. The large pocket of my school uniform dress was caught on the chair in front. I fumbled and finally unhooked it. The torn fabric hung forlornly. My embarrassment was complete!
I stood, alone, at ground level in front of the high platform. I could not climb the stairs and shake hands with Miss Pipe’s hand, so, I craned my neck up, up and caught her eye. She looked down, down.
“I didn’t do it!” I confessed. “I failed.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You may sit down,” she said.
I turned and began the long difficult journey back to my seat in the middle of the third row and sank into anonymity in that sea of girls.
Now, I come back to the present. I put away that telescope-of-the-mind.
Now, as a mature adult, I take up another ‘seeing’ instrument. It is the lens of God, the lens of truth.
Now, I experience that day very differently. I was not a failure. I was loved by the Unseen One and not alone.
All those feelings of exposure, failure and shame of that long-ago event fade back into a blur and I have freedom in the present moment.
I take up my imaginary telescope once again and peer into the future. It is blurry. I cannot bring it into focus. But I take bold steps into it because Truth will now lead the way.
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