Resolved to Be

So on Friday I’m doing the New Years day thing (sitting on my rear-end flipping between college football games and “best of 2009” programs) and thinking about New Years resolutions. I’m thinking: “New Years resolutions are sorta passé, you know? They’re so 2009.” But then an interview of author Gore Vidal on the Charlie Rose show catches my attention. I appreciate and respect both Vidal and Rose very much – not for what they stand for per se, but for their large brains. Anyway, Vidal is now in his mid-80’s and Rose asked him if he had planned for his funeral – if he thought about death – if he was ready to die. Vidal’s response was interesting: “I know its over, and I think it’s really about time, you know. Eighty-four is not the beginning of a new page…(but) I don’t know if anybody’s ready,” he said hesitating, “I mean…if there were anything up ahead…”

Rose interrupted him and they traded jokes to break the inevitable tension that the “D-word” always brings, so I’m not sure what – specifically – Vidal was referring to. But it seemed to me that he was saying something to the effect that if there were still something left ahead of him in life – another major writing project, etc…then he would not be ready to die. But there was nothing left for him to do, so…he was, in fact, ready.

Isn’t this how we live? For the next thing that we are going to do. The next hobby, the next vacation, the next project, the next holiday, the next relationship, the next chapter…the next page. And by doing so, we miss today entirely. C.S. Lewis in his brilliant work, The Screwtape Letters, touches on the temptation to live in the future instead of the present (with all of its intimations of the eternal). This is the advice given by Screwtape (an experience agent in the bureaucracy of Hell) to an inexperienced tempter:

Our business is to get them away from the eternal, and from the Present…It is far better to make them live in the Future. Biological necessity makes all their passions point in that direction already, so that thought about the Future inflames hope and fear. Also, it is unknown to them, so that in making them think about it we make them think of unrealities. In a word, the Future is, of all things, the least like eternity. It is the most completely temporal part of time – for the Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays…

In 2010, I want to live in the eternal rays of the Present. The eternal rays of my daughters – not the “when they grow older we can…” daughters but Story and Annie – right now. In all their 2 ½ and ½ year old glories. The eternal rays of my beautiful wife and our life now. The eternal rays of serving Christ’s church in these days and in this place. And most of all the eternal rays of Christ himself – who is in every day – every hard day, every sweaty day, every freezing day, every joyful day, every boring day, every single today. So, my 2010 resolution is this: To focus on being in today more than worrying about doing tomorrow. To experience the eternal rays of the present.

The Gospel through a Dog Named Dodger

In many ways, my dog and great friend Dodger, who died yesterday, saved my life. I got him a decade ago when I was lonely and self-absorbed and thought very little about anybody or anything other than myself. I knew I needed a change at that time in my life. And I knew I needed that change to come from outside of me because all of my internal motivations had failed to produce the needed movement in my life. I was stuck and unable to get myself unstuck it seemed, and so I got Dodger.

Dodger was a reject. I found him at a Schnauzer shelter, having been rejected by the Jack Russell shelter where he should have been and several previous owners who “couldn’t handle him.” And he was, indeed, a handful. But, then again, so was I. I understood Dodger and somehow knew that he understood me. And so we stuck it out the two of us. Dodger made me get out of the house – taking long, long, long walks – that not only relieved at least some of his Jack Russell energy but also got me out of my own head. There were no more excuses – rain, snow, heat – we had to go, and it was on those long walks that Dodger and I explored the world together and received the grace that only comes through caring for somebody, something other than self. We needed each other. And we both needed to be needed. He was my dog. I was his person.

Over the years, as our house became more crowded – first with my dear wife and her dog, Maggie, and then with our two daughters – life became complicated. The walks became less necessary and my time was radically divided. But Dodger went right along with it – happily I think – because he knew that he was still my dog and that I was still his person. He showed great patience – allowing our two year old to pull his ears and try to ride him without so much as a nip. He showed great compassion – often plopping himself into laps that were busy crying or working or being angry – reminding us – all of us – of the simple power of love in the midst of a crazy life.

Dodger exposed my weakness – day after day. My impatience with his curiosity and his desire to be in the middle of everything. My anger at his “honking” sounds that would arise – poor guy – upon any change of weather because of a collapsed trachea that he had received before we met. My laziness, my self-centeredness, my apathy. Yet every time. EVERY TIME – Dodger was ready to forgive in an instant – and come back and snuggle up next to my left leg on the couch and go back to being my dog. And letting me be his person.

Dodger was a great dog. In all his rejected glory. He was a great dog and we loved him so much and will miss him beyond imagination. In many ways our home will never be the same without him and that is something to be grieved deeply. But more than anything we are thankful to have had the gift of Dodger. We are thankful for the inconvenience of him. Love is not efficient or tidy. We are thankful for the laughter he gave us. We are thankful for the faithfulness he taught us. But more than anything – I am thankful that he will always be my dog. And I will always be his person.