So I'm experiencing something interesting that I don't think I've consciously noticed before. It's hard to say it without sounding snobbishly nerdy, so I'll just say it. After reading Dostoevsky's "Brothers Karamazov" and then Caputo's "Weakness of God", reading a Donald Miller book is like eating Peanut Butter and Jelly after eating Steak for a few months.
But it's not. There is quite a bit of substance here, but because my brain can grasp the words he's saying the first time through, the temptation is to read the book. I have to purposefully only let myself read a few chapters a day, and I want to simmer in his thoughts.
If you don't know, the book is about a man who has written a memoir. He was approached about making that memoir into a movie, but the movie-people need to create a more compelling "story" that captures many of the same elements. They want the movie to be not simply a life, but an entertaining movie also. This makes him (obviously) more than a bit introspective about life, spirituality, entertainment, and the intrinsic value of a human daily existence.
I think the temptation for many of us would be "well, not my life. Tell you what, if they made a movie of my life, not much editing/creative license would need to happen. It's dang compelling." Why is that? Our lives are compelling to us, because they are OUR lives, and we're pretty self-concerned people on the whole.
But here I am, a few chapters in, and no one is making or offering to make a movie out of my life. So here I am, reading a book about people making a movie about a book about another man's life. I'm okay with that.
I guess a big part of life is realizing not that our lives are not compelling, but rather gaining an appreciation of why they are Truly compelling...and yet still probably horrible movie fodder.
Back To Where We Belong
1 week ago