Lola

My family has had lots of dogs over the years, but I've never had a dog like Lola. She was always so sweet, loving, and happy. My dad swears she was part hyena by the way she would howl...he might be right. She would barely batt an eye as loud children tugged on her loose skin and soft fur. Yet her spirit was always wild, and a little untamed.

I've never had something that I loved so much try my patience so often, and challenge me like she did. Life with Lola wasn't passive. It was active. It was fully present in the moment. It was tiring. It was fulfilling and beautiful. It was dirt and fur and panting and sweat and food and noise and smiles and yelling and barking and licking and jumping and laughing. It was vibrant life.

I think dogs come into our lives for a reason, and for a time. Even if our working dogs aren't working, they still have a job. Lola was a new companion in a new place and a new marriage journey. Lola licked away many tears, from tragic losses to timely losses. From the struggle to be parents to the day we brought our two human children home. She was there. I guess her job was done, and I think she knew that. I still have trouble accepting it though, but as God and dogs often do, they didn't consult me on that timeline. Probably better they didn't let me choose.

It's almost like God gave us Lola to prepare us for something...or someone. I see Lola's spirit in AC. I often say that Lola is AC's spirit animal. That same untamed flare. Mischief and playfulness with a touch of defiance, but laid over an intense drive and strong intellect. I had to dig deep to find patience for Lola. I dig deeper to find it in the daily task of parenting. So Lola trained me up to be ready for the little human spitfires I now shepherd and train.

She reminded me to never take something you love for granted, as we never know our own timelines. She taught me to live in the moment, and embrace the nature and job you've been given.


Most people say "rest in peace" to their departed loved ones, but, Lola, I don't see you doing much resting. You were never one to sleep in or take it easy. I'm not sure exactly what God does with a dog's spirit, or even exactly what that looks like. I'm OK with not knowing and not understanding now (I wasn't always), but I know your spirit and all that love we shared is still alive and active in some way. It's too powerful to go to waste. I know the shepherd in you is still at work. 

You always had a master greater than me. One that created you, like He created me. One that loves his created animals even more than we do. I trust Him now, that the gap you leave in my heart is not gone forever, but part of the redeeming work he's completing in all of us. You're a good girl. A crazy girl. Our Lola girl. You're my dog. Always a part of me. So long friend.

"When you love something, you grant it soul, you see its soul, and you let its soul touch yours. You have to love something deeply to know its soul. Before the resonance of love, you are largely blind to a thing’s meaning, value, and its power to literally save you. In fact, until you can appreciate and even delight in the ecstatic wag of a dog’s tail and other such ubiquitous signals, I doubt if you have discovered your own soul."
https://cac.org/the-soul-of-all-things-2016-11-11/

Run the hills. Eat your bed.

I've picked up this thing lately called "jogging" where apparently you just go run for an extended period of time for exercise or something (thanks ron burgundy for that one). I'm training for a marathon, which is a 26.2 mile "race" in which you pay some organization an exorbitant amount of money for the privilege of destroying your body on a Sunday morning.

On one of my longer runs I was exploring Percy Warner park with no idea of where I was other than my GPS telling me how far I'd run. I saw a killer hill a few miles into my run and pushed myself to run it w/o walking. Well, in the thick woods the trail switched back to reveal even more hill. So I pushed myself to run that. After that happened a few more times I started to think I couldn't run this stupid hill any longer. But I kept trying to make it to what I thought was the end of the hill, and when that revealed more hill, I just tried to make it to the that. Eventually I was not just at the top of the hill, but at the top of the whole park. Arguably the most beautiful park in TN in the fall. I couldn't see anything higher than me in all of the green mountains that surrounded me.

At the top, I realized there is no way that I could have run that hill if I had seen how long it was at the beginning. The mental block of seeing how tall and steep that hill was at the outset would have caused me to think "I can't do that" or "not today" and I would have turned back.  But without actually knowing what I was getting into, I was able to do it.

That's how I feel like life is going right now. I want to know exactly what is going to happen next, and when I'm going to get all the things I want, and get rid of the bad things I can't shake, but sometimes it's better not to know. I think we're often stronger than we give ourselves credit for, and when our tough times are a surprise, we find a way to make it. Then one day we look back and say "I can't believe we made it through that".

I think that's why Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow, because today as enough worry of its own. If we worry about everything we may ever have to deal with, it's just too much. Live for today. We may not even have tomorrow.
Worry gives me an illusion of control. Like if I just think about all the stuff that's bothering me I can line it up and knock it out and I have a little bit of control. So trying to not worry is definitely a practice in faith, because I am letting go of my attempt at control (that I never really had).

My dogs are really awesome at this. They live totally in the moment. There is only today, and every meal is treated as if it may be their last. They may get into a squabble, but moments later are at complete ease with each other again.
For example: I might worry that if I ate my bed, I would have nowhere comfortable to sleep. Not so with my dog. I think her logic is as follows:

Hey,  I'd like to eat my bed. [Eats Bed]. That was fun. I will lay here a while, then lick myself until I fall asleep. Holy crap! Was that a car door outside? I better alert the neighborhood by working myself into a maniacal frenzy.




















I'm already looking back and realizing that I was tougher than I thought about some stuff in my life, but I know I'm not done and it may still get worse. I don't think I'm at the top of my hill yet, so I guess I'm glad I don't know how far I have to go. For today, maybe I'll just go for a run...or eat my bed.