Puppy Envy

My brother and his girlfriend suffer from "puppy envy." And they should. After all, they have cats (which are great cats by the way), but no dogs. So naturally they are envious when my wife and I got a new puppy after they had moved away to Chicago-land.




Loa, the new puppy, was very small when we got her.







But she sure has grown. Currently, at the ripe old age of 9 months, she is the same size as 4 year old and sweety, Dakota: 60lbs.








Dakota and Lola do most things together. They're just like two peas in a pod or whatever.



This one is called syncronized bone chewing.

She always has a bone or some other toy with her, and she grunts constantly as she paces when she's excited.

However, recently things have not been so picture perfect for this perfect puppy. One week ago we had her fixed because she had just gone into heat. That was amistake.

When a dog is in heat you typically have to clean up after her because she tends to leave little blood spots on the floor or carpet. This is manageable. But after her operation, she proceeded to lick her wound non-stop until it became infected and began oozing bloody puss!!! Eew. So now she's emitting from two places that we have to clean up after.

After a trip to the puppy ER and puppy prescriptions which cost nearly a dog's tail and leg, she was forced to wear one of those cone collars to prevent further licking. It's pitifully cute.

She was so depressed at first with the collar that we had to feed her by hand. She couldn't see her feet so she was hesitant to walk and had to move from room to room by following behind somebody. Otherwise she'd sadly sit in one place for hours until she had to move.

Since then she has gotten over the fear of the collar and embraced it as a part of life. Now she's no longer depressed seeming. I'm not sure this is an improvement, because she's now running all over but misjudging the cone size. Whack! goes the hard plastic into my shin, and scrape! it goes across the wall. The sound is amplified, because, as you can see, the cone is shaped like a megaphone.

At night she constantly changes position trying to get comfortable incidently keeping us awake listining to the obnoxious conehead contortions.

If you look real close in these two pictures you can see the redness on her belly. The wound is healing nicely. We clean it often and keep her away from it.

As much as I love my puppy, she has been a handful this week resulting in less time and less money. I wouldn't feel very envious of me right now. Puppy envy, I don't think so.

Don't worry Adam, you'll meet her soon enough!

River Relaxation

As part of my beautiful bride's 24 birthday festivities we, and two of our friends, packed up the camping gear and headed out to Mills River for the weekend. Our style of camping is very different than that of my childhood which involved lots of on-the-go action and playing. No, Heather and I prefer to relax, sleep lots and eat good camp'n only cookin'.




Sadly, for the first 24 hours we were there...it rained. Day and night. Our tent, fashioned for rainy weather, held up for the most part, but condensation over a period of time caused a lot of our clothes, towels, and sleeping bags to get wet in the tent...ugh.




We have two air mattresses that have electric pumps to fill them up. Alas, the first night we were there, due to rain and nightime, we were unable to locate any power outlets and were forced to sleep on the ground. Life is tough ain't it. On Saturday we did find an outlet to fill our mattresses, but we then found out that one had a leak which caused our two friends to sleep more or less on the ground a second night. Luckily, the birthday girl (and her husband) does not sleep on the ground twice, so we got the good mattress.




Saturday we also broke down, went to Wally World and bought a HUGE tarp to try and keep our tent a bit dryer. It worked, but as you can see it was a little unsightly.




Saturday evening the rain finally stopped. We got to build a fire, roast marshmellows for smores, and simply sit around the peaceful dancing flames. Sunday held true to it's name and was sunny. The tarp came off, the tent dried up, and things were serene. For breakfast we made pancakes and potatos and onions (a camping only food). Them'er some good viddles!





That afternoon we ventured down to the river for a spell and enjoyed the scenery. Mills River is on the edge of the Pisgah National Forest which is one of a 4-part system of national forests in western North Carolina.



The river is beautiful as it wanders camly but with great force shaping rocks and banks as children, adults and dogs alike play in the stream taking in the sights.







Dakota, our black and tan hound, ventured farther than ever into the waters chasing rocks. Robert was the first to trek into the faster flowing part of the river. He soon slipped and was carried about 30 feet down river before recovering as we all chuckled.









Inspired by Robert's heroics, I joined him and we traveled far upstream with the intention of riding the current over jagged and smooth stones back down to where our wives were lounging.

And we did just that...twice.








I love this picture.




Dakota: underwater rock hunting!









Wonderful wives enjoying themselves at the river.



Though part of the trip was sullied by extravegant amounts of rain, we had a great time seeing our now out of town friends again and focusing on anything but work.

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

This is the title of a poem/prayer I heard recently. I hope you'll enjoy this alternate picture of God.


Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.


If you had courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.


Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth


That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.


God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.


The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:


Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.


But when we hear
He is in such a "playful drunken mood"


Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

-Hafiz, "Tired of Speaking Sweetly"
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky


My favorite part is this idea that God needs to practice His divine dropkick on us! I hope this short poem helps slightly to expand your tightly held perhaps narrow picture of God, just as it did mine.

Rhythm

Last Friday night my wife, some friends of ours and I ventured into a land of the strange and the wierd, a land unique from any other in its diversity of patrons and residents, a land of lights, tastes, characters and creativity - a land called Downtown Asheville. The reason for this group-sized galavanting was as unigue and intruiging as the land it was in: drum circle.

Every Friday night there is a drum circle in Pritchard Park, downtown Asheville where drummers from virtually every walk of life come out of the woodwork, drums in hand, to feel the rhythm, play together and have a good time. People of all ages, races, shapes and sizes showed up to play the wide variety of African hand drums which were singing into the air with each "thud," "chum chum," "spok," "tat," and "boom."

Among the instruments I saw were djembes, dumbeks, congas, bongo drums, a dun-dun, an ashiko, cowbells, woodblocks, singer mini-cowbells, taborines and various shakers. Some players were life-long drummers, some were playing for the first time, but all were locked into a perpetual rhythm which some research has suggested has a theraputic quality.

Of my drums, I brought a djembe, conga, cowbell, egg shaker and a woodblock. There's an elevated pavillion-like seating area which was full of hand drummers and an open area filled with more drummers but predominantly dancers. As people walked by they always stopped to watch the rowdy ruckus, feel the rumbling rhythm and refelct on the robust aroma of cigars, inscense, and body odor.

My mates and I all had a such a great time drumming, listening and watching that we're planning on returning this Friday and perhaps many Fridays to come.

Despite Greg's express wishes that his wife Hannah not engage in "hippie dancing," this picture is evidence that she didn't listen.

Heather's dad and his wife also came along and brought the beat with'em. Afterwards Sherry adamantly said, "If I'da knowd it was gonne be that fun, I'da brought my tamborine!"

My guess is, next week she'll get her chance.

Remember 9/11

I remember vivdly walking to English class during the early part of my first semester of college. Because my SAT scores were barely under the set standards, I was in a remedial English class which (not to their discredit) included a number of Carolina's finest athletes. Walking through crowds of people I gatherd from cell phone snippets that something was on the news; however, I was more concerned feeling embarrassed that the assignment from a class I was ashamed to be taking was actually hard. Upon finally arriving in class we heard news from two athletes who ironically knew more than I did aboutf what was happening in New York.

"Something about one of the World Trade Center buildings was hit by a place, or is on fire, or something," she alerted us, "It's all over the news." Our professer quickly dismissed us appeasing our overriding interests to watch the news rather than hear his lecture.

Returning to my dorm room I found my room mate watching his computer screen (something he did 90% of the time) with the news on the TV in the background. I remember just how our room was set up that day, where I sat, and how I felt watching and learning the details of the terrorist attack on our country using two passanger filled missiles to bring down our tallest buildings, a third to strike the Pentagon and a fourth which never reached its destination no doubt due to the actions of the heroes on board. I remember it all.

Isn't it funny how our most celebrated moments in life (weddings, graduations, birthdays) fade into our memories as fuzzy shadows of jubilation and happiness, but the hardest, most terrifying, paradigm shifting moments in our lives are etched into the granit of our memory's stone tablet. The world's greatest poker players cannot remember the hands of how they won their fortunes, but I'm sure each of them can recall the specific cards in each hand of those times they lost the biggest. Isn't that funny.

Perhaps we remember moments like September 11th, 2001 so vividly so that we can learn lessons, remember our loved ones, not repeat mistakes, and realize the lasting effects of violence. 9/11 taught me that we can't rely on our tallest buildings to harald us as a great nation but rather on our fortitude and strength of character. It taught me that redemptive violence is a myth, and that we ought to pray for God to bless every nation not just our own.

So, today, this week and this month as you are remembering 9/11, remember where you were and how it changed you. Remember the courage shown by so many representative of our country. Remember the damage of violence. Remember that what matters in this life is just that. . . life.

"Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people he chose for his inheritance." Psalm 33:12

My First Book Review

Last week I finished reading Shane Clayborne's Irresistible Revolution. Clayborne is a Christian activist living in Philadelphia whose influences include Rich Mullins, Willow Creek Church, a 1st century homelss wandering rabbi, and Tony Campolo whose writing style is very similar. He lives in an intentional community in the poor part of town called The Simple Way where possessions and money are shared equally among the community following the Acts 2 model.

Irresistible Revolution is a call on Christians to take off the blinders of wealth and comfort that American Christianity has too easily donned. It's a radical and fresh approach to following Jesus who in fact was homeless. Clayborne teases out the myriad implications of following this Jew named "Joshua" in today's modern world. From giving to those who need to fighting social and political change that will further contribute to systems of oppression, he convicts readers to stand for justice on almost every page.

Clayborne is not out to convert his readers to Christianity, rather he compells Christians to look at the world through the lenses of a first century Jesus who stood agains oppressive government, injustice in the religious structure, violence, and practiced radical equality towards social outcasts (women, unclean, leppers, homosexuals, poor). Each from a fresh perspective he tackles social issues such as zoning laws as well as politics regarding healthcare and the Iraq War.

In keeping with my last post on this book (before I had finished), here are some quotes from the book to give you an idea of his writting and passion for justice.

“Everytime our government chooses to use military force to bring about change in the world, it once again teaches our children the myth of redemptive violence, the myth that violence can be an instrument for good…Violence infects us. We begin to believe that violence can bring peace in our world, in our neighborhoods, in our homes, in our hearts.”

“Essentially, I went to Iraq [with a peacekeeping group] because I believe in a God of scandalous grace. I have pledged allegiance to a King who loved evildoers so much he died for them, teaching us that there is something worth dying for but nothing worth killing for."

“While the ghettos may have their share of violence and crime, the suburbs are the home of the more subtle demonic forces—numbness, complacency, comfort—and it is these that can eat away at our souls.”

“The gospel is good news for sick people and is disturbing for those who think they’ve got it all together."

“When we have new eyes, we can look into the eyes of those we don’t even like and see the One we love.”

“If we were to set out to establish a religion in polar opposition to the Beatitudes Jesus taught, it would look strikingly similar to the pop Christianity that has taken over the airwaves of North America” -Tony Campolo

“The only thing harder than hatred is love. The only thing harder than war is peace. The only thing that takes more work, tears, and sweat than division is reconciliation. But what more beautiful things could we devote our lives to?”

“I always say that if we believe terrorists are beyond redemption, we can rip out half of our New Testament, since it was written by a converted terrorist who became an extremist for grace."

Sorry for so many quotes, but there are so many great ones in the book. Christian or non-Christian, this book is worth picking up and giving some time to let it mold a new worldview in your heart.

Horrible Honor

The intensive care room was particularly dark as I entered to find two ladies, teary eyed, sniffling, barely holding things together. A small sign of relief shown on their faces as I entered. "Perhaps he is someone to lean on, because I can barely stand." I hope I can be a leaning post.

Their dearly loved father and husband lies motionless save the occasional rising and lowering of the chest as each breath comes a little farther apart. "It won't be long now..." says his wife in perhaps the most pitiful and vulnerable moment of her life.

We stood together, watching the monitor screen, holding daddy's and hubby's hands, praying silently, breaking inside, saying very little, waiting for the moment when both peace and pain would arrive.

There was no observable, punctiliar moment when this man passed from life through death into what comes next. Rather, he percievably faded away like the the sun going down during the summer when it becomes dark but you never really know how it got that way. His life passed like a ship sailing out to sea becoming smaller and smaller until it's no longer visible but not out of sight either.

It's a horrible feeling sometimes, to be in a room with tangible grief, painful emotions so thick I can feel it weighing on my shoulders. I can only hope to grieve with them, carrying on my shoulders, which may be just a little bit stronger, some of their hurt so these two can find the strength to say goodbye. But it's an honor to be able to stand in such a sacred moment as an intimate stranger while they stare into my eyes looking for hope.


I hope to never forget these moments, as I know I will never be forgetten. I hope to let these moments change me, affect who I am and develop in me a deeper sense of compassion. Death is horribly difficult for most people; I can only hope to honor that pain by standing with them in the mire and murky space between this life and the next.

Through the Glass

Through the car winshield I see road, for miles stretching, leading me as I swerve for miles up and down the mountain each day. I see other cars, marching together between the road lines carrying precious cargo.

Through the glass payne in Behavioral Health I see patients, some wandering, some questioning, all needing a caring face to come from behind the glass and speak as if to a beloved friend.

There is a space between the trauma bays also separated by glass through which I look, pray, worry, hope. I see brokenness from accidents and crimes, people literally 'dying' to recieve urgent medical attention. I see injustice role through the doors on a stretcher bludied, tearful and with a tube down the throat. I see life hanging in the balance, precious life which was recently winding down the roads and talking with beloved friends. I see doctors and nurses with their blessed hands responding to the body, listening to it's needs, dialoging about whether it's time has yet come.

Through the glass I see God's children helping God's children. "Why has God put my loved one through the glass?" I often hear. There's no good answer to this age old question. Just more questions.

I recently read an anology of the Bible as being like a window, glass if you will, through which we look to see the divine. Is this window perfectly clear? Does it allow us to see everything on the other side? Or is it clouded, showing us only part of the whole picture. Are the scratches, scuffs and bugs on the glass obstructing our view of certain divine thoughts? Perhaps.

Perhaps the act of dying, which I have seen through the glass, is a passing from one side of the murkey window to the other, giving us a full picture of God. And these are the saddist times when I gaze through the trauma bay glass watching another beloved soul say goodbye to loved ones with tears and sobs, finally meeting God after passing 'through the glass.'

"A Thinker"

Whatever you happen to think about the morality of homosexuality, this paragraph from a book I've recently perused should make you think. It did for me.


"The heterosexual community needs to see and experience homosexual unions that are marked by integrity and caring and are filled with grace and beauty. The heterosexual majority seems to assume that the only form homosexual love making takes is the promiscuous life of gay bars, pornography, and one-night stands. They are ever ready to condemn that behavior pattern as morally unacceptable--and so it is. But two things seem to have been overlooked by those who make these judgments.


First, promiscuity, pick-up bars, pornography, and one-night stands are not unknown in the heterosexual world. That kind of behavior is destructive no matter what the sexual orientation of thse who live out that style of life.


Second, heterosexual people have the publicly accepted, blessed, and affirmed alternative of marriage that has as yet not been available to the homosexual population. If there is no such positive alternative for homosexual persons, then what is the church's expectation for them? If the church or society refuses to reconize or promote any positive alternative in which love and intimacy can sustain a gay or lesbian couple, then those institutions are guilty of contributing to the very pormiscuity that they condemn."


Spong, John Shelby. Living In Sin: A Bishop Rethinks Human Sexuality. (Harper Collins Pub.: San Fransisco, 1988) p. 202.


The intent of this post is not to convert anyone to any side of any 'argument' concerning the morality of homosexuality. It simply made me think, and I like thinking so I thought you should think about it too. What do you think?


I happen to not truly know what God thinks about homosexuality. I know what I was taught growing up by church/family/society. And I've heard the Bible used in support for and in condemnation of gay/lesbian persons. But I can't say I know what God thinks, just as Paul said, "Who can know the mind of God?" (Rom. 11:34)


I do think God loves more than he hates, and we should too. I think Jesus was in the business of breaking down the walls of prejudice and social ostracism, and we should too. (Reconciliation anyone?) I think no matter what we think about right or wrong, sin or holiness, we should treat every person we come across with love and respect (Golden Rule anyone?).


Comments?