"Can you sense the Creator, world?
Seek him above the starry canopy.
Above the stars He must dwell."
Unable to justify watching yet another episode of Planet Earth while my nine weeks old puppy chewed everything in my condo as a display of rebellion, I left the birds of paradise to themselves and searched for the leash. Hubbell, the driving force behind this walk, is overcome with delight in his victory and mercifully leaves my converse sneakers in expectations of bigger and better things. The black trash bag on the kitchen floor catches my eye and I am disgruntled with the idea of taking out the trash again. Hubbell begins to chew on my cowboy boots indicating the urgency for departure, so we're off. The trash will wait.
As we walk down the corridor of the complex, Hubbell relieves himself on the sidewalk, enforcing the idea that I have absolutely no idea how to house break a puppy. We do the customary greetings of the neighbors behind their glass doors: "Yes, it's a beautiful day", "No, I can't believe Senator Kennedy died", "Yes, Hubbell is bigger than the last time you saw him" and so on, and so forth. In actuality, I lied. I can believe Senator Kennedy died. Working in the health care field has given me an insight most people may not have and it is this: a lot of people die at age 77. It's more common than my neighbors realize.
After Hubbell and I dispense pleasantries, we embark on our stroll. Breaching from the protective canal of the condo, I am greeted by the whispers of fall. Immediately I realize that my choice of a strapless apron dress was no longer appropriate for the imminent season change. Whether it was out of laziness or stubbornness, I don't know but I didn't retreat for a sweater and carried on as Hubbell danced at my feet. I feel slightly maternal as I watch him jump up and down clumsily, remembering when I brought him home from the pound last week. His motor skills demanded some fine tuning-his gait easily confused for that of a drunkard's when we had first met. Fall's approach is being proclaimed as I see small brown and yellow leaves on the egg shell colored pavement. Hubbell is in pure ecstasy as he has recently developed a strange fascination for leaves. Going to the park after the leaves fall is going to blow his mind. I can't wait.
Every now and then the sun wins out against the shade and it seductively warms the skin on my back and neck. I turn towards it to in hopes of greeting it with my vulnerably exposed chest and face, but it lingers no more. Hubbell has tangled himself in his leash and distracts me from the foreboding breeze. And for the first time, it occurs to me that the season is going to change. Summer is going to end and fall will begin. Maybe it stems from my love of a new school semester or the time I spent in Northern Ireland, but this particular seasonal change will always give hope for new beginnings.
Hope has been the sustenance of my soul the past three months. The inscription of "one hope" on my right wrist becomes prominent in my sight for a moment and I allow the book of Ephesians, chapter four to mechanically recite through my mind. ...just as you were called to one hope... the commandment to not crumble underneath the weight of grief gives the power needed to set my eyes on Christ's promises. I think of the hope of life restored, and how I feel like I've been waiting in the twilight the last few months. What I hope for is for the dawn to come and my joy to return. To relish once again in the joy of my salvation, the thing I've battling for these long days.
The period of meditation is interrupted as Hubbell sees a neighborhood dog he had befriended a few days earlier. He joyously runs to greet his friend only to be received with a snarl and a bite to the face. He retreats to my feet and sits on my cowboy boots looking to me for affirmation. I can't help but think for a split second what a great sepia toned photo that would make. The neighbor apologizes for her dog's outbreak, saying that she doesn't know why her dog doesn't like Hubbell anymore. I resonate with my dog's pain for a moment before she looks at Hubbell and says, "don't worry, Hubbell. It's all part of growing up." At first I thought she was giving me the sage advice and then checked back into reality to say, "oh, no worries, he's fine". Hubbell by this time has escaped to the door and is scratching to get back to shelter.
We walk in and I give attention to my hunger for the first time. Immediately I crave a Green Teaser from 9 Fruits. Realizing that it is 20 miles away and they're closed, I admit defeat and prowl through the refrigerator. When nothing jumps out at me from the fridge, I begin to convince myself that I could probably just make a Green Teaser at home. Then I recall a recent failure with some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and decide to avoid another kitchen humiliation. Baby carrots and hummus instantly are the most appealing candidate and I settle into the couch with Hubbell at my feet. Sigur Ros' Hvarf-Heim is crying in the background as I respond to unanswered emails. Hubbell gnaws on a carrot I experimentally gave him with the result being my dog will eat carrots. I laugh a little out loud and thank God for sending me such a precious creature to let me love. Still working on the carrot, I pick up Hubbell and kiss the top of his head. And for the first time in a long time, I feel joy. Not circumstantial happiness, but joy. I know that the dawn is going to come and that in His sovereignty, Christ is lovingly growing me up. Hubbell's carrot falls to the floor and he looks at me with his soft and eyes and I say to him,"it's ok, Hubbell Bear. It's all part of growing up".
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