This week, my daughter turned 11. She was, of course, giddy about her birthday–something I don’t take for granted, since a lot of parents can’t afford to celebrate birthdays where we came from in Uganda.
And she’s so easy to celebrate: a keen mind, a generous heart. People tend to adore her. I have witnessed for years as she’s made friends with kids in poverty because they’re just kids to her; as she’s put out a donation cup for the pregnancy center at her lemonade stand.
So someday in the future, I can see my eyebrows arched over some guy garnished with peach fuzz who wants to take her out. I see myself thinking, You have no clue what you’re getting. You think she’s a pretty face and a great dancer. You may come back to take her out when you understand what a lucky dog you are.
As the saying goes, Guns don’t kill people. Parents with pretty daughters kill people.
Who’s the loser?
There are other phenomena like this in the universe: Things that leave us the losers if we miss out on appreciating them. They’re things in the “Look, kids! Quick!” category. Though I tend to enjoy a little distance from my cell phone, I was scrambling for it this morning when this little guy frolicked through the front yard. Exuberant me, to my teen: “You have to come see this!” Grumpy teen: “No. I don’t.” And he doesn’t. But he’s also the one who misses out on this by choice:
Yesterday afternoon I wove through the mountains–so green and stunning right now. But I live here, right?
A visiting friend from Europe has said to me, “This place is like living in the Alps!” Thus, I have this road sticky noted in my mind. It reads, I know you’re headed to the store. Don’t miss this. It’s one of the most beautiful sights on earth.
So I was fascinated by the words of C.S. Lewis this morning. He talks about artwork (or daughters?) that warrants our sheer wonder–because if not, “we shall be stupid, insensible, and great losers, we shall have missed something.”
So you probably get where I’m going with this: “God would be, by his very nature, the ‘supremely beautiful and all-satisfying Object.” Too often adoration slumps toward a have-to. But sometimes I get a glimpse that this is a get to. This is our beautiful birthright, our gracious choice: to love back. We are the lucky dogs.
My “get to”
In the fourth century, John Chrysostom wrote movingly,
For God is not so well pleased with being our Master as he is with being our Father; he is not so pleased with our being his slaves as he is with our being his children. This is what God truly wants. This is why he did all that he has done, not sparing his only begotten Son, that we, as adopted sons and daughters, might love him as a Father.*
Sometimes I realize I’m not actually stopping to return to God what He loves most. I get sidelined by something smaller I didn’t get, like watching the crack on my windshield and missing the real-life postcard I’m passing.
Maybe it’s like last night, when I asked my husband to meet me for dinner after the monthly Costco trip where I typically drive home with my knuckles grazing the ground. I didn’t call him because I should, and that’s what a good wife would do. I called him because spending time with him is part of my own delight; I’m the winner. It’s my “get to.” It’s the stuff of love songs: I get to wake up next to you. I get to hold your hand. When we can strip away the plodding of the every day, there’s a “Man, I’m a lucky dog!” element.
The same everyday is what keeps me from seeing God for who he is; for sidelining the “wow” element because I can’t see him for who he is. As I quoted John Piper in this post, “The fight for joy is first and always a fight to see.”
This week, may you be caught up in the wonder.
Lord, it is fitting to rejoice in your beauty and to gaze upon your handiwork. While others may call this as waste of time, we recognize that unless we sit in adoration of you, we will forget whom we serve and for what purpose. Remind us why worship is always our first response to you. Amen.
Like this post? You might like:
“It’s Around Here Somewhere”: On Looking for Joy–and Fighting to See
Adore: 5 Ways to Easily Do More of What You’re Made to Do
*Lewis, Clive Staples. Reflections on the Psalms. Boston, MA: Harcourt (1958), p. 90.
