There's doing and there's being.

There's thinking and then there's pondering.

When I get to thinking, it

is usually with a goal in sight. A decision I have to make. A plan I have

to come up with. A way to make the plan work.

When I set to pondering, however,

there is no goal to be set, or reached. Pondering is something you do

in and of itself. If you ponder on a regular basis and get lucky, a rare

epiphany might even fall across your path. Usually, epiphanies just fall,

though. No thinking or pondering is really required. When they come, they

come, and you are never the same afterward.

Pondering can change you too,

though. What I've been pondering this week is perspective. What it means.

How it affects us. How nothing escapes the influence of perspective. No

animate or inanimate thing.

What set off this spell of

pondering was a sunset. And a brilliant pink sunset it was. A zillion

shades with golden light filtering through all the puffy little pink layers.

A magnificent expanse of color that looked like God took a brush, and

with two or three grand swoops, impressed me to no end. Not that God needs

or wants to impress me. He just does. Daily.

So, I'm sitting on the front

porch, rocking quietly, staring into this exquisite celebration of the

day's end. Then I saw the first plane. Actually, I didn't see the plane

itself, just the little stream of white that tells you it's up there as

it progresses across the sky. It approached my pink pallet from the northeast.

Almost at the same time I caught sight of another plane making an approach

from the southeast.

In a matter of minutes their

paths crossed (from my perspective). More than likely they were actually

hundreds of miles apart. Probably couldn't even see one another from their

perspectives, but I saw them and it looked to me like their paths crossed.

I wondered what the folks aboard

those planes thought of my royal sunset. Did they see it like I did? Could

they see it all?

Then suddenly I was aware of

Daniel sitting to my right. He was quiet. Spellbound, I guessed, by my

sunset. For it was his, too. And yours. I suppose it belonged to all the

inhabitants of the earth. But I realized as I sat there silently, rocking

softly, totally mesmerized by the beauty that laced the sky before me,

that nobody, not another living soul, not even Daniel, who sat four or

five feet over from me, could see that sunset with the same perspective

that I had. Nobody.

I know there are those who

will declare that the sunrise is just as pretty or prettier. So while

I'm pondering this matter of perspective I suppose I have to allow for

everyone's unique take on how they perceive any given moment in time.

It's just that for me the sunrise

is too soon gone. The day calls and I can't hold on to it the way I can

embrace the splendor of a setting sun. Morning demands that I go about

my business, whereas, at night, I can go to bed still pondering a beautiful

sunset.

Actually, I don't stare into

the sun as it sets. What I call staring into the sunset is gazing at what

the setting sun leaves behind. The effect of its rays on the sky and clouds

and the tree, field or waterline. That would be the horizon, I suppose.

The right terminology does

not matter to me. Pondering doesn't require real words, or pen, or paper,

just a spot of time and a willing mind and heart.

That's another thing. You can

think with your mind alone but when you ponder, your heart frequently

leads. Of course, all the named senses, and some that aren't named yet,

also can get involved.

Pondering is time-consuming

and perhaps one of the most rewarding activities known to man, since it

affects both our doing and our being. Indeed, it is in pondering that

we define the difference between doing and being.

And don't let anybody kid you

here. This is not one of those fine line situations. There's doing and

there's being. You can just get by at both or you can really shine at

one or the other, or both. Don't know how to tell the difference? Just

ponder a while and it'll all come to you.

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