It happened so fast it was a near miss.
Me: Oh, oh ... Slow down. Look over there.
Husband: Which there?
Me. There, in that jumble of bushes.
Husband. What jumble?
Me. The one that HAD the deer in it.
Husband: What deer?
It was rather funny, actually. I so wanted my husband to see what I was seeing, but to no avail. Either I was not clear in the way I communicated, or he was blind to it, or the opportunity to comprehend the event had passed. By the time he computed that jumble was synonymous with thicket, the deer was nowhere to be seen.
That got me thinking.
Isn't sin like that? Doesn't it cleverly camouflage itself against the backdrop of all that is normal, as if blending into the landscape of life, or in an attempt to evade detection? Isn't it hard to get people to see what's hurting them (or others, because of them) sometimes, even when we do our level best to describe what and where it is (without being critical, of course)? Isn't that same stuff hard to see in ourselves at other times?
If anyone had asked my husband if there was a deer in the bush during our park visit, he'd have said "no". But whether I described it well enough or not, or whether he saw it or not, that camo-wearing Odocoileus Hemionus was alive & well in the jumble.
Just thinking ...