The Magic Never Really Ends

The Magic Never Really Ends

  It seems as if the whole world is holding its breath in glorious expectation until they can once again enter into the magical world of Harry Potter. Advance ticket sales for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two have already reached 25 million dollars and are still climbing. It seems as if the only enemies in the world that Harry has are Lord Voldermort and the Death Eaters. But that hasn’t always been the case. It wasn’t all that long ago when not everyone was wild about Harry.
    When the first of the Potter movies came out, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, The Augusta Chronicle was flooded with letters to the editor denouncing the Boy who Lived. Why? Because there was concern that reading or watching Harry Potter would lead countless scores of people into the Dark Arts. Harry was denounced as being anti-Christian and a bad influence on children with its portrayal of magic and sorcery. Passages from the Bible were quoted to bolster the argument that to enter the world of Harry Potter was to enter the world of the devil. It’s hard to imagine now, but whether or not a Christian should see the movie or read the books, was a real controversy in evangelical circles.

     Fast forward ten years and the biggest controversy is to decide whether to brave the opening weekend crowds or wait a few days to see The Boy who Lived.
     So what has changed? For those of us who have always loved Harry, even amongst us clergy, there was always the understanding that this was a tale of good versus evil on an epic scale. At one point in The Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry asks his godfather Sirus Black if he, Harry, is a bad person. Sirus replies that Harry is a very good person to whom bad things have happened. It’s the goodness and courage of Harry in the face of evil that has made him so attractive.
    Not long after The Sorcerer’s Stone was first released, America faced pure evil with the attacks of September 11, 2001. You didn’t need to enter a magical world to face a power that did not wish us well; it was right here in our own back yard. For many, especially children, Harry became the face of resistance against evil; it didn’t matter how young you were, you still had the power to fight darkness and win. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against…the powers of this world…against this present darkness. Therefore take us the full armor of God that you may be able to resist in that evil day.” (Ephesians 6). That was the fight of Harry, Ron and Hermione and remains the struggle for each of us today.
     So what might be the biggest controversy with Harry today? That it is the last installment and the deep wish that J. K. Rowling would once go to her keyboard, unleash her talent, and once again lead us into the magical world of Harry Potter.

Sabbatical Prayers

Sabbatical Prayers

Things have been quiet on the God and Dog Travelogue front of late but that is because I’ve been traveling. I have left beautiful, cool Maine to return to the blazing heat of the South. I’ll update you all shortly about the trip back but first I wanted to thank you all for your continued prayers while I’ve been away.
As you might have guessed, I’m not in Paris. There are a couple of reasons for that but the main one I kept to myself for several weeks. Just as I began my Sabbath at Day Lily cottage I discovered a lump under my arm. Things like this happen to most women at some time in our lives so, in the proverbial words of my mother, I didn’t “borrow trouble”. I didn’t want to cut short my time in New England, so I waited until I could return to Georgia to see my physician. During the weeks of waiting, I practiced what I have preached to so many of you over the years – I did not go on the web and did not try to self diagnosis myself into a frenzy. God, I hate it when my words come back to haunt me! In addition to the lump, I was also having trouble with my contacts but that, I knew, could be easily remedied.
So today was spent seeing my family physician and my optometrist. And the news was good on all fronts. The lump turned out to be an infection which is being treated with antibiotics; but there was more good news. While I was waiting to be seen by the doctor, I had the usual work ups – weight, heart rate and blood pressure. And there were improvements in all areas. Several years ago I was diagnosed with hyper-tension and have been on blood pressure medicine ever since. Even with the meds, sometimes my blood pressure is still a bit too high, so I monitor it (see, I do pay attention Dr. Edwards!). Today my blood pressure was stellar, in a range I haven’t seen for years.
One doctor visit down, another to go. I went to my optometrist, whom I had just seen three months ago, and explained that my contacts weren’t working as well as they should. An examination should that my eyesight had dramatically improved. My prescription needed to be adjusted because I was seeing that much better! He didn’t really have an explanation for it but I do – and so do you! I know that all of this is due to this Sabbath time and to your continue prayers, and for that I am so grateful. So much of my sabbatical has been spent in learning to really see God’s world as God would have me see it. I needed to adjust my vision about the world and God and the dogs have been instrumental in allowing me to do just that. Now I have discovered that my vision has literally improved. Imagine that.
Thank you for your prayers. I am spending this last bit of time visiting family and deciding if I really want to redecorate my house. Since God has been redecorating my soul, why not?

The Patriot

            The Patriot – no, not the old Mel Gibson film, or even – gasp – Steven Segal’s movie.  I’m referring to the painting by Andrew Wythe.  This afternoon I visited the Farnsworth Museum which houses an amazing collection of art by the Wythe family.  I found myself particularly drawn to Andrew Wythe’s picture of what had to be a veteran of World War I, Ralph Cline, now know as The Patriot.  The copy pictured below doesn’t do the painting justice.  You can’t really see the twinkle in Cline’s eye, but then again, we can’t see what had to be a twinkle in Wythe’s eye when he was painting (or maybe it was a grimace).

            What captivated as much as the painting was what Wythe said about painting, in the accompanying captioned taken from a 1964 Life magazine article.  Wythe said, “You see, I don’t say I’m going to go out and find something to paint.  To hell with that.  You might as well stay home and have a good glass of whiskey.  Really, I just walk a great deal over the countryside.  I try to leave myself very blank – a kind of sounding board, all the time very open to catch a vibration, a tone from something or someone – like Ralph Cline.”

            I don’t know if Wythe would have described himself as a religious person or not but he was very much describing a religious experience, being open to a vibration a tone from something  or someone.  That is what we are all called to do – be open.  Be open to God, be open to God’s world, be open to what God wants to show you.  In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus heals a deaf mute with the word, Ephphatha, or be opened but those words could also be used to open our eyes to become more aware of the presence of Jesus in our lives. 

            In Eucharistic Prayer C we pray, “Lord God of our Fathers; God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (perhaps in future editions of the Prayer Book we can remember our foremothers as well); God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us.”  It sounds like a prayer Andrew Wythe may have said.  It sounds like a prayer we should all be saying. 

The Sacred Bond

The Sacred Bond

The Divine Link between Dogs and People

            Dogs are not people.  This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story that I am going to relate.[1]  Dogs are not people but we act as if they are; we call them our fur babies and count them as members of our family.  We dress them up in people clothes and feed them people food and sometimes even carry them around in purses or packs.  Not that there isn’t anything wrong with that, as Jerry Seinfeld would say. I myself am not immune from see my dogs as family but recreating dogs in our own image does them, and us, an injustice.  It diminishes the wonder and mystery that two entirely different species would share their lives together.  

            I prefer to see dogs as dogs, not people, so that they can open my eyes to see the world with heightened senses.  The most pronounced of the five senses in a dog is the sense of smell.  If you’ve ever had the privilege of watching a puppy be born then you would know that they don’t look so much like a puppy as they do a gerbil.  And yet this “gerbil” will immediately use its nose to find its way to his mother’s nipple to get that first taste of life giving milk.  Dogs have thousands of more receptors in their nose than humans do, which means that they have thousands of more things to explore and share with us, if we let them. 

This morning I took Jack and Kelsey for a walk.  We had a thunderstorm last night and it was still drizzling when we went out.  Gene Kelly notwithstanding, I usually try to stay inside when it is raining, rather than sing, but Jack and Kelsey had important business to attend to.  Business taken care of, they were on the hunt.  Kelsey followed the trail of the ever elusive chipmunk, frequently seen but never captured.  Jack was on the trail of something larger and led me to a large impression left in the wildflowers lining the yard.  Something big had slept here last night.  A deer?  A moose?  My dogs didn’t have the language to tell me or, more to the point,  I didn’t have the capacity to speak their language,  but they showed me their finds by leading me to each place that I would not have seen on my own.  That is just one aspect of the magic of inter-species communication, one that could never be experienced if we just hauled around our dogs in baby carriers rather than allowing them to show and share their world with us.

I don’t think it is a coincidence, to use that well worn phrase that Dog is God spelled backwards.  God wants so much to show us this world that God created but we want to limit God, contain God.  Over fifty years ago J. B. Phillips wrote a book whose title says it all, Your God is Too Small.  Its been said that God made humanity in His own image and that we have been trying to return the compliment ever since. It is nothing new to want to reduce God to something that we can carry around with us in our back pocket.  But to do so reduces the wonder and majesty of God’s relationship with us.  God chose to clothe Himself in humanity, to be one of us, so that He could lead the way, saying, “Look, your missing this path.  Or, did you notice this wonderful impression over here that was left last night?  What do you think it is?  What do you think it could mean?”  That is just one step from saying, “Did you notice the wonderful impression I have left on your heart?  What do you think it could mean?”

Dogs are not people.  This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story that I am going to relate.  And people are not God. Let dogs be dogs and God be God and see what wonderful things can come out of their Story.

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[1] With apologies to Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol.

Stay

Stay

     In obedience competition one of the more difficult things we ask of our dogs is to remain in a stay line. All the competing dogs, having already completed their individual exercises, are asked to form a line and they either remain sitting or lying down, as their handler walks away from them across the ring. They have to remain in a stay line for at least three minutes without moving. In advance obedience, the handler moves out of sight from the dogs.
     It is the last exercise of the obedience routine. More than one team, coming into this final portion of the trial with a near perfect score, has been disqualified because their dog moved in the stay line. It may be that the dog decided to lie down, rather than remain seated, or visa versa. Sometimes a dog will decide that there is something more interesting across the way that demands their immediate attention. Once, during a competition with Jack, we had completely our individual exercises satisfactorily. We did the first part of the stay line with Jack sitting perfectly. Yes! It looked like we were finally on our way to getting our first title. We came to the last exercise, the long down. Jack lay down and I walked across the ring, turned and faced Jack just in time to see him fly through the air. Disqualified! It didn’t matter that someone in the next ring had flipped the mat Jack was lying on (accidentally). He had moved and we were finished. It is hard to stay, even when you’re trying.
     It is hard to stay. In Soul Friends: Finding Healing with Animals, by Kate Nicoll, MSW, she writes, “The stay in a line of dogs demonstrates the ability for both the dog and the human to be in sync; the communication is clear, consistent and the picture is one of self-containment.” Stay means to “stay in place even as the world moves around you, stay in place even as I leave you, stay in a vulnerable position even when I walk away and stay true to yourself even when everyone else moves on. The metaphors are potentially endless and powerful.”
     It isn’t just dogs who find it difficult to stay in one place; we humans have a hard time staying put. One of the first pieces of Scripture that I learned in my Old Testament class in seminary was, “A wandering Aramean was my father…,” referring to the call of Father Abraham. Sometimes, like Abraham, we are called by God to wander. “Not all who wander are lost” J.R.R. Tolkien writes, in The Lord of the Rings. But more likely for the rest of us, it is just our curiosity to see what lies down the road that causes us to break the stay line. We are afraid that we may miss something. What we don’t realize is just how much we are already missing by always being on the move, always sniffing around; we fail to really see what’s before us. In the Rule of Saint Benedict, staying in one place, staying in community, was one of the primary rules that Benedict set down for his community. It became a rule, because even in the 5th century, Christians were seized with a sense that God was best apprehended out there rather than in here.

     When my sister Mary was here we drove up and down the coast of Maine with her family trying to see as much as we could in the short time they had here, leaving us all a bit tired and frazzled. But our favorite part was just staying in the cottage, drinking coffee on the back deck, watching sail boats and telling stories or just drinking in the silence and companionship. Stay. Stay in place even as the world moves around you. Mary, I wish you were still here. Stay. At least, here in my heart, I know that you’ll stay.

Past Times

Past Times

Things were simpler back then. It doesn’t seem to matter what decade we came of age, whether we were a child of the 50’s, 60’s or 70’s or beyond, we tend to look back on our childhood as a simpler time. Most of my childhood was spent in a small town in South Carolina – Sumter. When I think back on those days I remember them with fondness and with a tinge of nostalgia. Things did seem simpler then. We had one movie theatre, The Sumter Theatre, located downtown in the old Opera House. To the right side of the theatre was the police station. The alley between the theatre and the police station had a white line painted down the middle which we assumed was used to see if the local drunks could walk a straight line. While we kids waited to see the latest Saturday matinee, we would test our own balance at walking the white line, laughing when one of us would trip and fall to the side. Finally the doors of the theatre would open and we would pour in to see the latest Tarzan movie and enjoy the air conditioning.
One of the things we looked forward to all year was the annual parade held in honor of the Iris Festival. The highlight of the parade was seeing the Shriners buzz around in their miniature cars while wearing a fez, with their tassels flying in the air. It didn’t take much to amuse us way back when.
So imagine my surprise when I came to Belfast, Maine and felt the clock turn back forty or so years. There is only one movie theatre, The Colonial, which is about to celebrate its 100th birthday. And the Shriners were in town, gathering for a parade. My sister Mary Wyatt, along with her husband Mitch and their two boys, Adam and Alex, went with me to see the parade. We cheered on every unit of the parade from the Shriners driving their miniature cars to what can only be described as Jelly Bellies – men with bare midriffs, painted to look like faces. It was a hoot. After the parade we went to The Colonial to watch a Saturday matinee of Super Eight. There was no white line in an adjoining alley, but other than that I could have been back at the old Sumter Theatre.

Tonight when our family was gathered around the family room Mitch asked the boys what had been their favorite things they had done in Maine. The parade was first on their list, followed by the movie. Simple things still count. This weekend has been about creating memories. For me it has been an intersection of the past and the present. I know that at some point in the future, my nephews will look back on this vacation as a golden time.
I give thanks to God for recognizing this time for what it is – a precious gift – and I have savored every moment. This morning the Wyatts and I went to church and I realized that I could not remember the last time when I sat in a pew with my family in worship. It is a rare even to have any member of my family present when I preach or officiate at worship, but to sit with them as part of a congregation…well, I don’t know when that last happened. Literally. So I savor this time and put it in my memory box. Past times, present times. All time is in God’s hands and all moments are holy, if only we have the eyes to see.

Wait

I’ve been away from home for several weeks now with just Jack and Kelsey, my trusty corgis, as companions. I have been exploring new places and meeting new people as we travel through New England, but all the travels have been solitary and I find that I’m missing friends and family. Tomorrow I will see some much beloved faces when my sister Mary and her family come to Day Lily cottage for a week long visit. And I can’t wait!
Waiting is one of the hardest things we do as human beings. It is also one of the primary commands that we give to our dogs, who find waiting equally hard. In her book, Soul Friends: Finding Healing with Animals by Kate Nicoll, she writes, “Learning wait is an exercise in patience, understanding, communication and compassion. The wait we request of our dogs is for safety, manners and connection…Learning to wait is an important life skill for humans and animals. Wait requires a high level of connection and thought process. Think of yourself as a toddler; wait was never on your mind, this was something you learned through childhood and into adulthood. It requires the ability to truly understand the anticipated object or person will not go away. If you turn your back, it will not disappear forever or be obliterated. Wait requires trust, as well as awareness and appreciation of the other object or person…the command wait demands you pay attention to the now.”
Both Jack and Kelsey know the wait command, although it is not one of their favorites. I make them wait to go out the door, wait for treats, and sometimes just wait, so that their focus is on me. Even after all these years, Jack and Kelsey and I are still working on wait, learning to trust one another. The prophet Isaiah wrote, “But they who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings, like eagles. They shall run and not be weary; they shall run and not faint.”(Isaiah 40:31) The Message transposes that verse as:

Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
or, whine, Israel, saying,
"God has lost track of me.
He doesn't care what happens to me"?
Don't you know anything? Haven't you been listening?
God doesn't come and go. God lasts.
He's Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch his breath.
And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don't get tired,
they walk and don't lag behind.

Waiting is a time to recollect ourselves – literally to re-collect ourselves and who we are as Children of God. With dogs, it is a time to get them to re-focus on me. Perhaps God is doing the same. Wait. Something or Someone is coming. It will be worth the wait. And while you are waiting, your strength will build and I, the Lord, will fill you with my Spirit, so pay attention to the now.
I can’t wait to see Mary and her husband Mitch and my terrific nephews Adam and Alex. They will be here soon enough. But while I’m waiting, I’m paying attention to my surroundings, to Jack and Kelsey, to the lessons of Scripture and to the prayers. And I’m waiting to see what God in Jesus is working in me.

Community

Community

This past Sunday was the celebration of the Feast of Pentecost. It has always been a favorite celebration of mine since childhood. It felt a bit strange not to celebrate this with Holy Comforter, as this is our patronal feast day, and we know how to party. I knew that many people would be wearing something red in remembrance of the flames of the Spirit lighting upon those gather. The church would come together as the people of God to celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit, the Holy Comforter – not just in the lives of those early followers of Jesus, but in all of our lives as those who love and follow Him.
I started my Pentecost Sunday worship sitting on a window seat on the second floor of the cottage I am renting. It over looks Penobscot Bay, which literally stops just yards from the steps that lead to the rocky beach. I opened the Prayer Book and read these words as I saw the tide come in and the sea birds darting about the water: Alleluia. The Spirit of the Lord renews the face of the earth. Come let us adore him. Alleluia. Just being in this place is a form of renewal but something was missing. It wasn’t enough to read the Daily Offices (Morning and Evening Prayer as found in the Book of Common Prayer). That has been done in a solitary fashion, enabling me to savor each part of the service. What was missing was community.
I’ve learned that sabbaticals, at least for me, aren’t about severing relationships but catching your breath from daily responsibilities of ministry, much of it administrative, much of it filled with anxiety – what haven’t I done, or even, my God what have I done? I have missed being part of a worshipping community. Fortunately, that was easily rectified by finding a local Episcopal Church in Belfast, Maine - St. Margaret’s. Like most visitors to a new church, I sat in the back, as I was uncertain of the local customary. Uncertainty was swept away as I heard the familiar words of the Eucharist and sang hymns, new and old, and was fed by the rector’s sermon. I was home.
I understand where people are coming from when they say, “I can worship God just fine on the…golf course, fishing boat, St. Mattress by the Springs, or….fill in the blank. There are times when we need solitude to be fed by God, to listen to God, to pray with and to God. But then we need community. And that is what those folks are missing. A community that will show tangible signs of God’s love. A community that will support them when life is tough. A community that will challenge them to continue to grow in God’s Spirit. A community that will celebrate life’s joys with them – and I think this is a rarer gift than sharing sorrow, but one that is equally important. A community where we come together to “listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.”
A community is like a family. We strive to love each other but there are days when we don’t always like each other. We have to work through our differences and expectations but we come together to discern a common vision of what God wants for our holy gathering. Solitude, as much as that feeds my introverted soul, doesn’t provide these things. Only community does that. And any time God’s people come together, there we find home.

Fit to be Tied (Dyed)

Fit to be Tied (Dyed)

A week ago when we first came to Camp Gone to the Dogs, I was excited but a bit nervous. You see there were nearly two hundred campers, several of which had brought more than one dog (you do the math). Jack is pretty laid back around other dogs but the same can’t be said of Kelsey. Some time in the past two years she has turned into a snarky bitch, which may seem to be a redundant term. Kelsey wants to be the Alpha bitch, but that is my job – to be the Alpha, not a bitch, for those who don’t know dog terms. But Kelsey’s snarkiness comes from fear and anxiety. When another dog comes near she would rather take the offensive, rather than wait to see if she needs to be defensive.
So, here we are at a dog camp, surrounded by hundreds of dogs and here I am with laid back Jack and Kelsey, the bitch. As dog trainer Lois Fair would say, “What were you thinking?!” However my anxiety was immediately addressed in the opening introductions. Seems like I didn’t have the only dog with issues. Dog trainer Sue Sternberg said that many of us had dogs who were snarkelptics!! I wasn’t alone! In order to gives those dogs the space they needed, she passed out tied dyed bandanas – vivid, colorful, visual cues that said to owners, “Hey, this dog needs space!” Suddenly, dozens of snarkeleptic bandanas were being passed around and put around the necks of our dogs without any sense of shame. The bandanas gave each of us the space we needed to work with our dogs and Kelsey made huge strides in being social.
Don’t you wish that we could all wear bandanas that would give visual cues to our moods, as a “heads up” to others? In Victorian times, it was common to wear a black arm band to indicate that you were in mourning. After my father died, I so wanted to wear something like to say to other people that my life had just been turned upside down; I need some space to grieve. Things more so fast in our world, we forget it takes time to heal from loss. A black armband bandana would signal to approach with tenderness and care - the wound is still healing – instead of telling people the story of my loss over and over again.
Likewise, wouldn’t it be great if we could all wear tie-dyed bandanas when we were feeling snarkapletic, like before we had that first cup of coffee, or if we just had a really rotten day? I think that the world would be a much more peaceful place; we wouldn’t be fit to be tied, just fit to be tie-dyed.

No One's Ever Prayed for Me Before

No One’s Ever Prayed for Me Before

When Reggie McNeil was with us at Holy Comforter last year, he challenged us to do one simple act of missional ministry by asking a person, “How can I ask God to bless you today?” I’ve been doing that very thing ever since and the stories would fill a whole other blog.
At dog camp the staff gives of themselves 110%, not only to the people but to their dogs. You know how tiring it can be when you give another person your full attention. Now expand that to giving not only a person but their dog your full attention. You give and you give and you give. Although the staff’s enthusiasm for what they are doing has not flagged I could tell that the energy was getting low as we neared in then end of camp.
One staffer, Sue, has been offering a series of classes of problem behaviors. She was a master diagnostician, listing to the concerns and then offering remedies. At the end of the session I asked Sue if I could pray with her (yes, I skipped the part about the blessing). She just beamed. So, with permission, I signed the cross on her forehead ad prayed for healing of spirit, to be blessed with energy and other things I can not now remember. But what I do remember is that when we finished she said, “Wow. No one’s ever prayed for me before.” Sue is probably reaching the mid-point of life, yet in all those years, no one has ever prayed for her. Her eyes were shinning ad she had the biggest grin on her face when she said that, as if she had been given a great gift – which she had – not by me but by God using me to step out in a moment.
I don’t think this story is unique. We are surrounded by scores of people who don’t know that they are worthy of God’s love, much less worthy of God’ care and concern. We don’t have to be obnoxious in stepping out to pray with another, we just have to do it. I hope I never hear the words, “No ones ever prayed with me before.” But if I do, I hope I hear it at the conclusion of what will be the first in a long series of prayers for that individual. No one’s ever prayed for me before. Imagine.

On the Right Track

On the Right Track

Among the dozens of activities offered at dog camp is tracking. My friend Lois Evans has been trying to get me to do some tracking with Jack for years but I never seemed to make the time. The biggest hurdle in getting me to track at camp is that the class starts at 7am, the time I’m usually just getting that first or second cup of coffee, much needed if I’m going to face the world. Today was the last day for beginners to experience handling; it was now or never. My deal with the dogs was that if we woke up by 5:30 am, we would go. Jack must be a mind reader because he had me up at 5:25 am!

7 am found me in a stunning field of wildflowers. It was cool with a light breeze coming up the hill and embracing dogs and handlers. The grass in the meadow was tall - taller than Jack. This was going to be interesting.
In tracking, your dog must lead you and find the scented articles strewn across a trail. This is different than obedience or most other dog activities. Usually the handler makes sure the dog is by their side and doesn’t forge ahead, but in tracking that is exactly what you want your dog to do. As Lois has said, “You have to trust your dog.” Jack and I didn’t know what to trust. He was fitted with a harness and off we went. Sort of. As I said, the grass was taller than Jack. He took a few steps and then stopped and looked at me as if to say, “Aren’t you suppose to be in front?” I talked to Jack, cajoled Jack, and did everything except put my nose down to the ground to show him what he was supposed to do.
The trainer who was coaching me very nicely told me to back off and keep quiet. Again the message was to trust your dog. When I finally understood that, apparently Jack did too, because suddenly he was moving swiftly ahead of me and found every single article along the trail. Have you ever seen a corgi smile? Well, Jack was smiling. He knew he had made a big accomplishment. He wasn’t alone as he tracked; I walked with him every step of the way, encouraging him, praising him, helping him to accomplish his mission. It was not a big theological leap to realize that this is very much how God walks with us.

When we are spiritual babes in arms, new to fellowship with Jesus, we are so aware of His presence. Everything seems highlighted with the glory of God. It’s a mountaintop experience, but like most mountain tops, there comes a time when we have to come back down into the valley. The spiritual life seems more like something we have to work at, rather than just basking in the glory of God. Many people give up in their spiritual quest at this point. And that is truly tragic because this is the time when the relationship with Jesus truly deepens. It’s like tracking with Jack. We look behind us to see if God is still there. We quiz God asking, “Aren’t you suppose to be in front?” What we don’t get is that God trusts us to forge ahead. God hasn’t forsaken us or left us. God is just saying, “I trust you. Step out in faith. You will be amazed at what you’ll find.” God is always right there, encouraging, praising, helping us to accomplish our mission, helping us to stay on the right track.

Inns and Out

I've been without access to this blog for a couple of days. I'm staying at an inn close to the campus for Camp Gone to the Dogs. The inn was built in 1786 and I don't think any renovations have been done since then! The only grounded outlet is in the bathroon where I just managed to extend the cord to the computer so I could write. It is drapped over the sink (yes, I know - safety hazard) and then trails just to the edge of a table. Thankfully Jack and Kelsey are asleep or I would be worried that they might accidentaly run into the chord and pull the computer down. The computer is seven years old so it really doesn't need any more bruising!
The inn is situated in front of a large pond and Kelsey again has fallen in love with the water. There are fish that jump and splash, a new experience for her, and it makes me smile to see her trying to figure out where the splash came from. Next door is a white congregational church, established in 1776. It gives me pause to think of its history. Vermont really is populated with whitewashed churches in the village center with tall steeples that dominate the landscape.
The room I'm in has the old broad pine floors with each plank almost two feet wide. The bed is a tiny single bed frame which looks like it may be from the turn of the last century. For some reason the bed has a steep slant to the right so it is hard to not roll right off. To add to the delight, Jack and Kelsey both want to sleep with me. A seat belt would come in handy! The first night in the single was spent trying to get the three of us repositioned on the downhill ski bed but last night we manged alright. There are probably twenty dogs and their people in the inn but you rarely hear a dog bark, despite all the creaks and groans of an old inn. The dogs are better behaved than most people.
There is no air conditioning and for the first time since I've been in Vermont I've missed the AC. While it hasn't been as hot as Georgia, today was in the 90s and I had to really scale back my activities with Jack and Kelsey. That is another lesson that they keep teaching me, not to overschedule, which I'm prone to do and then have to back out of too many things. They are living examples that less is more; that what counts is the present and being present.
I'm learning to see the world better through their eyes, which is another way of saying I'm re-learning to see the world through the eyes of God. I'll talk more about camp, which is amazing, in future blogs, but for right now keep in mind that there are at least thirty different activities you can do with your dog each day - impossible to do, although many try. I've had to choose just a few things and in making those choices savor what I'm doing. It is a reminder that all of life is to be savored and we get the most flavor by just picking a few choice morsels to delight our taste buds. The psalmist said, "Taste and see that the Lord is good." Taste the delicacies of this life. God created it all and called it good.

I had a Lover's Quarrel with the World

I Had a Lover’s Quarrel with the World

That is the epitaph on the grave of Robert Frost, buried in Bennington, VT.  He was four times a winner of the Pulitzer Prize and America’s Poet Laureate, at least unofficially, and his poetry is studied across the world. You may not know the title, Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening but you do know the concluding line, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep and miles to go before I sleep.”

Frost was also, from all accounts, taciturn and sometimes as hard as the New England granite that is scattered across the landscape.  He once wrote, “Forgive O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I’ll forgive Thy great big joke on me.”    We don’t just have a lover’s quarrel with the world but with God, wondering if the joke is on us for believing in a God who loves us more than life itself.  For the questioners, the skeptics, the ones who, like the distraught father pleading to Jesus for the healing of his son with the confession, “I believe, help my unbelief” take comfort in Frost’s epitaph. I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.  It is written in the past tense, not because of Frost’s death but perhaps, because, in the end, the lovers made up.  

            This blog is entitled God and Dog Travelogue but I haven’t mentioned too much about Jack and Kelsey, who are the reason for this trip. They have been with me every step of the way, except for those unenlightened souls who don’t allow dogs in their facilities.  Jack and Kelsey and I drove from Bennington to Stowe, Vermont yesterday.  Along the way I was deeply moved the see a number of side roads named in honor of fallen soldiers.  I passed by roads with names such as Pvt. Ford or Pvt. Fallow.  It wasn’t until I passed by a road named Pvt. Frog Hallow that I realized I had been deeply moved by a series of private roads, all marked Pvt.

            I chose the inn in Stowe solely because they accepted dogs.  I had no idea of what a treat we had in store for us.  The room is huge, almost the size of my living room and kitchen put together.  The dogs have plenty of room to stretch out and play.  However the biggest surprise is that behind the inn is a large meadowith the proverbial babbling brook and a covered bridge – all in our back yard!

           

            One of the things our dogs teach us is to live in the present.  I had an itinerary all planned out but junked it once I saw Jack and Kelsey’s reaction to their new surroundings.  Jack rolled on his back on the grass and Kelsey didn’t hesitate to explore the brook.  I was going to see Dog Mountain but decided to postpone it after seeing Jack and Kelsey’s enthusiasm for their temporary home.  Dogs teach us to savor the present moment and that is one of the lessons that I’m here to learn.  So we walked along the paths and took our time with the world – or let the world take its time with us.

God and Dog Travelogue

I’m in Vermont and the high today was 57, a full forty degrees less than it is in Augusta.  Thanks be to God.  I don’t think I could tough out the New England winters but the summers…on my!

I’m staying in the Bennington Motor Inn, which is wonderfully kitschy.  It is literally on

Main Street

and I mean literally.  There is a guard rail fifteen feet from the front door of my room.

  The place is a bit overdone with country charm; plastic flowers and American flags festoon the front of the Inn.  The room has two brass beds, which are very comfortable, a chair and desk,  It is the cleanest room I’ve ever seen.  Perfect.  Jack and Kelsey are with me and are terrific travel companions.

Yesterday I arrived in Bennington, VT, a small, eclectic college town after driving two days to get here.  This morning I had a wonderful breakfast at the Blue Benn Diner.  It is a converted railway car that has been turned into a diner.  I sat at the counter and ordered what had to be a quintessential Vermont breakfast – blueberry pancakes, Vermont maple syrup and bacon and hot, steaming coffee.   Conversation was swirling around me. A booth full of men were discussing politics and religion – the two supposed “no nos” of any polite conversation.   In a booth behind me a woman began singing a snippet of the aria “I know that my Redeemer Lives” in one of the clearest soprano voices I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.  She was singing softly to her companion, who turned out to be her voice teacher.  The soprano said, “I’ve finally leaned to take my time with it, to know how to sing it.”  How do you take your time with that phrase?  It takes a life time to let its music fill your life and not just be a song but the song of your life and the life to come.

 I know that my Redeemer lives.  I (myself, my truest self, the one I can’t hide from anyone, including God).  I know (this knowledge is not just a matter of faith but fact.  I know).  I know that. I know that my Redeemer (this Redeemer who came for the world has also come for me.  Just for me.)  I know that my Redeemer (the one who redeems my life, who is life, who give life and gives meaning to life).  I know that my Redeemer lives (He lives!  Jesus isn’t just a figure in a book, a well remembered teacher but one who lives, who continues to live and who chooses to live within m own life.)

The passion of just that one line, “I know that my Redeemer lives” was proof enough that the singer had learned not just how to sing that phrase but how to believe it, live it through her music.  Who would have thought that I would have a lesson in the resurrection in a Vermont dinner?

The other lesson learned came from the waitress.  This was her church. She knew her members and even the newcomers by name. A couple of men came in who apparently had been in for the first time just the day before.  She called out to them, “Ice water and Sprite, right?”  It was right.  A woman came and sat in the stool next to me.  Coffee appeared without asking and then a bowl of oatmeal topped with brown sugar.  “For I know my sheep and my sheep know me.”  Everyone who walked in was made to feel welcomed.  This was her church and she was the pastor.  I thanked her for her ministry and asked how I might ask God to bless her today.  She said I had already done that by thanking her.  The woman sitting next to me said to me, “Your right.  You must be an angel to her today.” I wasn’t but perhaps I was being used to be an angel unawares by letting one person know that I was aware of her, that she had been noticed for noticing others. To the young soprano, I thanked her for her song as I made my way out, which is where I learned that she was singing to her voice teacher.  They were preparing for a recital on Saturday and I got to her the dress rehearsal.

Its night and Jack and Kelsey are already asleep.  I will be also soon enough.  Tomorrow I go to Stowe, Vermont where I make a pilgrimage to Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream factory and learn the tortuous process of how Cherry Garcia, my favorite flavor, became Cherry Garcia.  I’ll swing by the Von Trapp family lodge where Maria and all the little Von Trapps put down roots after fleeing the Nazis from Austria.  Then I go to Dog Mountain and the Dog Chapel in St, Johnsbury, Vermont.  Dog chapel was created by an artist and is open to dogs and their special people.  I can’t wait.