My apartment has a near perfect view of the water that divides my city and then the opposite coast and skyline. The setting sun beautifully lights up the skyline; the water is ever changing, reflecting its mood of the day, sometimes a dull grey or a glorious blue. It’s an almost perfect view. There is just a roof blocking 95% of our windows. Instead of the skyline and coast we see the next-door roof, seven satellite dishes, and some pigeons.
Right now that is what language study feels like compared to what I imagined working here would be. If I strain really hard, leaning all the way out of the window or stand of the edge of the balcony almost falling, I can catch a glimpse of what I am working towards, language proficiency, moving into work – what I came to do. But mostly I just feel blind to what is going on, blind to the purpose and direction, blind to hope of this language getting easier, that understanding will every come. All I see are the six more hours of study I have to do today, the next lesson I have to plan, and the next grammar tense to master.
It leaves me hoping, wishing my view were better. Wishing I lived one floor higher, or one hill closer to the river, maybe then I could see the water, maybe then I could see what is going on, what I am working towards. I get frustrated that all I see are the satellites and chipping roof tiles. This can’t be all there is! If only God showed me a little more of his plan. If only I was privy to his view of the city! Maybe then I would be content in my studies.
But I can’t live like this. The “if only’s” will kill me, if leaning all the way out the window for a sunset picture doesn’t. I can’t spend my life straining out the window for a glimpse of the perfect view. So instead, today I will buckle down and study this language for six more hours with my 5% of a view I have from my living room. I have confidence God has the perfect view, so I need not worry. He has purpose in each 5% of the view he gives his children, I will be content with mine.