Bathe, shave, attend meetings, write sermons, preach sermons, and take the dog out: This is not an exhaustive survey of my worldly duties, just the ones that recur with striking regularity. For the moment, I’ll focus on the last of that list: taking Daisy outside before she goes inside.
I’ll admit it isn’t a particularly taxing chore. All I have to do is escort her, maybe carry her down the steps, and she’s good to go. It’s so easy, in fact, that I’m moved now almost to tears at the thought of it. You see, Westmoreland dogs haven’t always been so cooperative. There was ZuZu, for instance, a surprisingly fleet-footed Shih Tzu/Poodle/something mix. Do you perchance remember Gayle Sayer’s famous mantra, “Give me 18 inches of daylight”? If dogs could get tattoos, ZuZu would have had those words on her chest. Given even a few inches of unleashed daylight, she was gone, leading the whole family in a neighborhood chase.
Daisy is different. Unless egged on by a squirrel or chipmunk—so elusive, those chipmunks—Daisy prefers a nice saunter. She wades through the grass a bit, never straying too far, then, if the sun is cooperative, she finds a comfortable spot to sit and warm her bones. As her escort, I do the only thing I can in such a moment; I find a nice spot of my own—but in the shade, thank you—and take a seat to watch.
Yes, your minister leads an exciting life.
After enjoying the sun’s warmth for a bit, Daisy lifts her nose to the breeze. I watch and wonder. How does she make sense of the scents that come her way? Does she sift and sort—animate, inanimate, canine, human, edible, decaying (i.e., something to wallow in later)? Or does she bask in them as she does the sunbeams, letting them soak into her soul, the many scents blended, a gift in glorious simple complexity? For a moment, the sunning dog, inhaling life, is pure praise.
And for a little while, I’m with her, basking in her basking from my shady spot. Be still, my soul; be still my soul; be still my soul. The breeze bears wonders. Be still. And rejoice.
In Christ,
Mark Westmoreland