I have been reading the book "
Dangerous Calling" (Paul David Tripp) for a project, and keep finding myself with a lot of things to say. This book has been quite the conundrum for me. I don't actually enjoy reading it -- largely because of the author's writing style, but also because the structure isn't intuitive and the purely diagnostic tone can be extremely frustrating. It has, however, prompted a good deal of self-reflection. Even in moments of severe disagreement with the author, I find myself forced to re-examine my motivations and my posture before God.
I can't say conclusively whether I recommend it or not ... in part because I haven't finished it, and also because my actual analysis gets muddled in my strong reactions (both positive and negative) to the content. Hopefully I can decide at some point.
I will spare you the majority of my thoughts ... most of them are either wildly personal or tinged with serious exasperation.
Here is the one tidbit I will share, starting with a passage from the book.
"Artists talk of the the dynamic of visual lethargy, which means that the more you see something, the less you actually
see it. On that drive to work the first day, you are conscious of all the sights and sounds. You notice that beautiful grove of ancient trees and that cool modern duplex on the corner. But by your twentieth trip, you've quit noticing, and you're wishing the traffic would move faster so you could get to work, for Pete's sake! Something has happened to you that seems inevitable but is not good. You have quit seeing, and in you failure to see, you have quit being moved and thankful. The beauty that once attracted you is still there to see, buy you don't see it, and you cannot celebrate what you fail to see."
My gut reaction?
"This concept is totally foreign to me as a mother."
Not that every moment of every day I go about glorying in the wonder of my child ... at all. Sometimes all I see in her is a mess, or a tantrum, or a timer counting down the minutes until she goes to bed.
But not a day goes by where I don't have at least one awe-moment. Where I really
see her ... her sweet soul, her feisty spirit, her beautiful person. And this is not something I have to muster up, but rather a spontaneous response to being near to her.
[Brief interlude for pictures of aforementioned baby ... pictures that I can't stop looking at. And sending to people. And making Josh look at.]
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| This one is a teaser from our family picture session with Kevin Scheidt |
Ok, so back to what I was saying.
So I started to wonder ... why would I have visual lethargy with some things (like my drive to work), but not with my daughter or husband?
It's because they are dynamic. Two weeks ago, Phoenix would just sit and watch me play patty cake. Now she joins in clapping. Two weeks ago, Josh would have gagged at the idea of eating tofu. But he has eaten it twice this week and LIKED IT (what!?).
I keep falling in love with Josh and Phoenix every day because I have never discovered the depths of who they are. Even if I were close, they are both constantly changing. Real loving means braving uncharted territory everyday, which (though sometimes scary or intimidating) always involves miraculous treasures. No day passes without at least a millisecond of awe.
I have always been drawn to the unchanging character of God. He is faithful, and that truth gives me strength to cling to Him even when my world seems to spin out of control.
But today, I am thankful also for the dynamic spirit of God. I am thankful that it is impossible to have visual lethargy when one's spiritual eyes are fixed on Christ. I am thrilled anew that I have only a grain of knowledge about God, and that He will spend the rest of eternity surprising me. I am a captive audience, waiting with bated breath to see what He reveals next.
And I am humbled that my story of grace is dynamic as well - that forgiveness is a fresh offering every moment, and that my renewal blooms with a simple prayer.
