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Sometimes I get lost in my own thoughts, and I miss seeing the people right in front of me. Does that happen to you?

I’m looking at a person, but I see a distraction, an interruption.

I see a problem.

On the other hand, when I’m really seeing people, joy and meaning find their way into my day. 

I feel a sense of purpose. 

How do I get from problem to purpose when I’m looking at a person?

I’ve found that almost anything can help me to pause and correct my vision.  It could be a news story, a conversation overheard, or even a billboard.

This morning it was vomit.

The Main Office called me first thing.  A Middle School student had thrown up. Second floor. Room 10.

I thought, “What a lousy way to start my day.”  Can you blame me?

I went into zombie mode, with my mask and cart, as I made my way through the hallways. 

Oddly, the girl who had been sick, was still in the classroom, sitting next to the area I had to clean. (Her classmates had been moved to the hallway, for obvious reasons.)

I thought, “What’s she doing here?  Why isn’t she at the Nurse?  What if she gets sick again while I’m cleaning.?”  Can you blame me?

I had the mess all tied up in a black trash liner and was disinfecting the area for the third time before I actually looked at the girl.

I stopped.

She was very still, eyes down, her chin resting on her chest.  . 

“Are you okay,” I said quietly.  She managed a nod.

(Of course she’s not okay.  She just threw up in front of her class AND her teacher.  How embarrassing.  Humiliating even.  Not to mention she’s SICK.  She’d rather be anywhere than here.  She’d rather be home in her own bed. How would you feel?)

And then, I noticed the teacher.  He came over and gently asked if she felt okay to go to the nurse, yet. She nodded.

I used to be a teacher.  Interruptions like this aren’t easy.  You have a lesson to teach, a Middle School class to keep focused, and now a sick student to care for. Not to mention vomit in your classroom.

I suddenly realized how important it was, especially to these two, that I arrived quickly and cleaned up the mess.

As I thought about the girl and the teacher, imagining what they were experiencing and feeling, something inside me stirred.

I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

My heart swelled with concern and compassion.

In the midst of vomit, I experienced a kind of joy.

The difference was seeing.

Seeing changed my day.

Seeing changed me.

. 

“I hope you feel better,” I offered, as her teacher helped her up.”

“Thanks for your help,” the teacher said, looking over at me.

“I’m glad I could,” I said.

And I meant it.