Closing the Gap

“Do you see the gap where the two walls meet, up there near the ceiling?” he asked.

I had to look for a few seconds before I could even figure out what he was talking about. Then I saw it—for the first time ever…even though it was part of my office.

“Architects are trained to see those details. I can’t walk into any room without noticing what isn’t quite right.”

I have been thinking about our conversation. It explains a whole lot about the interactions between the architect in my family and me. I am beginning to feel sorry for architects and designers because I realize that the pleasure of just existing in a space is forever lost to them.

I focused on how sad it is to be an architect until I remembered my own dilemma.  It isn’t any easier to be an English major who has been trained to be vigilant about misplaced commas, dangling modifiers and incorrect syntax. I won’t even begin to expound on my frustration with faulty thinking, illogical conclusions or the lack of developing a proper thesis. I am forever prohibited from a trouble free reading of drivel attempting to masquerade as literature.

My geologist husband is no less aware of what he has been trained to see. (This explains why he checked topological maps to make sure we were well above the flood plain before we purchased our home.) I suspect every area of expertise brings with it a critical eye for what is right and an instantaneous recognition for what fails to meet the standard.

It is this intentional focus I want to bring to knowing God. I want to study him through his word. I want to observe closely his workings through creation. I want to see how the life of Christ is lived out in the redeemed students of God’s character.  I want to become so familiar with God, the way he thinks and speaks and the things that are important to him that I will recognize instantly when my life is not in alignment with his.

I won’t be able to close the gaps between God’s order and the chaos of worldly thinking, but I want to notice them with the instant acuity of an architect who looks at an improperly constructed corner. I want to make sure that what is off and insufficient does not pass for okay and unthinkingly pleasant. 

Most importantly I want to give the Master Architect permission to build my life in such a way that there are no gaps between his plan and the finished product.