dog tags

pete had surgery a couple weeks ago. it was a simple surgery, but he had stitches and was forced to wear the cone of shame. (if i ever figure out how to upload photos from my cell phone onto my computer i'll share the adorable little humiliated pup)

the day had finally come when the cone could come off. i took it off and we played and played around the house. he ran up and down the stairs like a fool and i watched, giggling in my chair. i gave him a bath and reached for the collar that he hadn't worn in over ten days.

pete could not contain his excitement! he tried to sit still but his tail just kept wagging at lightning speed, causing his whole body to shake with anxiousness.

it took me a moment to get it on there with all of the movement, but it finally latched. he paraded around the house with his snout pushed out and his head held high. i couldn't help but picture a pageant queen with her crown. he was so proud...

who knew that a dog would be so happy to wear his collar? like he wanted everyone in the world to know that his name is pete havelka, that he belongs to me, and that he has his rabies vaccination.

today in chapel we celebrated the "u2-charist". (catch the funny play on the band u2 and the eucharist?) the whole service featured music and video from the band u2 and we celebrated holy communion at the end. i love communion. you can call me weird, but i look forward to communion sundays. i love the idea that i can come before the Lord in this cleansing ritual and ask forgiveness for the stupid decisions i've made and be made whole again. i know that i could do it any day of the week, and i do, but there is something about this ritual of remembering the life and death of Christ that the cleansing of sin is made more real to me.

i doubt pete has ever thought about his rabies vaccination like communion before, but would i wear a tag proclaiming my forgiven self to everyone in the world like pete wears his?

are you that proud of who you are? whose you are?

practically everyone on campus knows pete and knows that he is mine. they don't need a dog tag to let them know that he belongs to me, but it's there just in case. just in case he gets loose or runs away from me, so a stranger would know where to return him.

pete and i were playing fetch in the front yard yesterday when he noticed a neighbor walking their dog across the street. (i say street, but it's a highway. and a railroad.) he flew across the street, even though katie and i were screaming his name to come back. he didn't even flinch.

sometimes we run. sometimes we are running so fast in the other direction that we don't even hear God calling after us. it may be as innocent as running to see a harmless friend, but when we forget to listen to our Master's voice then we put ourselves in danger.

pete could have been hit by the semi truck that passed by only seconds before he darted across the road. he could have ran past the neighbor and out into the unfamiliar forest beyond the houses. luckily, he's sleeping next to me on the couch tonight while i watch tv and think about doing some homework.

how would our lives be different if we were truly proud of the titles we keep? do you wear your name - who you are and whose you are - like a beauty queen's crown? do you wear it like pete wears his dog tags - with your head held high? do you live in ways that you and your Master can be proud of?

or are you running away?

colorado consciousness

we rounded the bend and there it was. this beautiful lush green tree in direct opposition of the white and black rocky mountains in the not so distant background, like an artist had painted a stark canvas in the dark lonely cold of winter and only bought green paint in the spring when life began to bloom again.

i couldn't help but stare. i leaned toward the window like a little child arriving at the gates of disneyworld for the first time. it was beautiful. it was haunting.

sometimes i feel like that tree. i'm a round bright tree in a world of spiked spruces and pines and snow dusted black mountain peaks. i feel like somehow i don't make sense against the world that surrounds me. like the master Artist created for me a charcoal masterpiece and i took a child's electric lime crayon and scribbled in the middle.

i felt my nose hit the glass, i caught consciousness again.

none of my photos do the scene justice. just like my words never seem to be sufficient.

the last days

i can barely take a second more
the ticking of the clock
the dripping of the leaky faucet
the struggle of his every breath

every second seems longer than the last

*breathe in*
tick...tock...
*and out*

i can't believe that this lifeless body is him
he simply can't be there anymore
he wouldn't have fought this hard
my grandpa wasn't a fighter
he was the kindest man i ever knew

*breathe in*
drip...drop...drip
*and out*

i start to dream of where he must be now
of islands and leis and coconut milk
with a beer in his hand
and his twerp at his side
they're dancing to the playful melody of steel drums and ukeleles

*breathe in*
tick...tock...tick...tock*
*and out*

i never did get that pet name of her's.
what does "twerp" mean anyway?
was it because grandma is so short?
grandma doesn't remember.
it's too late to ask him.

*breathe in*
drip...drop...drip...
tick...tock


...he didn't breathe out



is this the end?



...*breathe in*
tick...tock...tick...tock
drip...drop...drip


with every breath now we stare.
is this the last?
what about this one?
the constant rhythm of the breath and the clock and the faucet,
it's now not so constant.


time of death: 7:45am


quietly in the stillness of the morning
i hear grandpa say to me
"breathe in"