In her honor, I want to share this post about pets and animals:

http://www.steveswriting.com/2009/02/remembering-fritz-and-other-beloved-pets/

Over the last few years, I’ve been reconnecting with a lot of my friends and classmates from the old GT Ram days. About two years ago, while surfing through the list of names of guys who had graduated in 1981 like I had, I remembered one of their names. The fellow’s name is Dean. Feeling kind of social and outgoing, I reached out and “friended” him. At first, he didn’t seem to remember me, which was no surprise. After all, we had a huge class–about 550 of us, I think–so I wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t remembered me much, if at all. Further, Dean and I had not really been good friends at the time. He had seemed likable enough, and he and I had some classes together, but we didn’t know each other very well; we were more just classmates rather than friends.

There was one particular and important time that I do remember about Dean, when we were outside of classes. After I recounted the story to Dean, he started to remember me more than just as a “name that was kind of familiar.” It was in intramural boxing. At our then-all-boys high school, boxing was regularly our most popular intramural sport. Dean and I both had bouts on one day, against different opponents. It has been more than 30 years since that day, so I don’t remember now if Dean’s match was before or after mine, but he and I talked before my match and Dean was friendly and very encouraging. When the other kid and I were called up, Dean enthusiastically said something like “Go get him, Steve!”

After the bout–I won, but just barely!–Dean and I talked a little. He slapped me on the back and was going on and on about how well I had done. (For the record, I was exhausted at that point, so I’m glad he’d had enough enthusiasm for both of us! I was so tired that as Coach Clarence “Bronco” Telkes, who had refereed the match, raised my hand for the decision, I felt like I was going to collapse from fatigue; my opponent had done really well and I was kind of surprised that I had won.)

I’m smiling as I write this, but it was awesome that Dean seemed even more excited about my win than I was. Maybe that was because I had a headache! I thought, “Dean is a good guy. He seems really psyched and happy for me about my win and he doesn’t really even know me much.” (It’s also more than a little embarrassing that I don’t remember how Dean’s bout went, although I was cheering for him.)

This is a small memory, but a happy one. It’s great to reconnect with my high school friends. Communication seems a bit easier now. It’s great to find out what everyone’s been up to and to share my own stories with them. Dean now has a family, and he’s a CPA and successful businessman. I’m thrilled for him, just as he had been for me that afternoon in our gym, about 3 decades earlier.

We are made in the image and likeness of God. We have many characteristics of our Divine Creator: reasoning ability, emotions, creativity, and imagination. Yes, God can create things out of nothing and we create using the things God has already made. Still, God shared His creativity with us. Part of that creativity is the gift of our imaginations.

While God creates an entire universe out of pre-subatomic substances, we human beings create things and actions using parts of God’s creation. Usually, our human creations begin with our thoughts. Then we develop those thoughts according to a plan. Consider a few examples. One does not simply go out one day and build a skyscraper. First, he imagines how the skyscraper will look as a mental picture. Then he develops his plans more fully, hiring architects and engineers, and raising capital to pay for the project.

Similarly, consider a businesswoman who wants to build a Web site for her small company. She will first start with some vision, however basic, of how her Web site will look. After developing that vision, she starts to design her site and decides whether to build it herself or hire the services of a Web design professional to help her.

In each case, you can see that we create first with our imaginations. We have an idea, a vision, or a daydream. We follow some of these; we abandon others; we let still others simply pass as transient thoughts. However, every time we actually follow through on our dreams, we work to create something, using the abilities God has given us individually and the many gifts in His wondrous creation. By using our imaginations for good and constructive purposes, we imitate, in a small way, the work of our Creator. An old proverb says, “Imitation is the most sincere form of praise.” Thus, by using our imaginations in healthy, positive ways, we are offering prayers of thanksgiving and praise to our God.

The Value of Using Our Imagination When Reading and Praying the Scriptures

As Jesus’ modern disciples, we face many challenges in the world. A friend of mine once said that a relationship with Jesus Christ is an “earth-shattering, life-shattering” experience. Indeed, as that friend noted, we allow Christ to revive our entire lives, to lead us down paths we might fear to travel on our own, and to transform the world, bringing forth God’s Kingdom.

Obviously, this is a daunting proposition. Like any relationship, our relationship with Jesus requires time and attention. We can’t simply take it for granted, declare “I am saved because I have faith in Jesus,” and live our lives as unbelievers, with an occasional or even weekly visit to our churches on Sunday.

We need to spend time with our Lord. The many forces of evil in the world will try to discourage us, wear us down, and pull us away from our relationship with Christ. The battle of a disciple is daily; we will become weary if we try to struggle on our own. We need prayer and reflection upon God’s Word to nourish us and to refresh us. Additionally, the time we spend in prayer and reading the Scriptures helps us to deepen our relationship with Jesus.

I invite you to pray using your imagination to create vivid imagery that will help you draw closer to the Lord and deepen your relationship with Him. The more mental images we attach to parts of Scripture, the more frequently we will find ourselves contemplating God. God created with us with senses and with imagination. The more we use our senses and our imagination, the more often we will think of God’s Word, and the closer we will come to following the Apostle Paul’s encouragement to pray constantly. (Cf. 1 Thess. 5:17). Furthermore, as we spend more time using our imagination to read and pray God’s Word, engaging more of our senses and our more of our minds, we will move ever closer to fulfilling the Greatest Commandment: “Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” (Matthew 22:37) (NAB) (emphasis added).

This method of imaginative prayer is not new. Throughout the Old Testament, God invites us to seek His face. (Cf. 2 Chron. 7:14; Psalm 24:6; Psalm 27:8; Psalm 105:4; Hosea 5:15). Later, in his Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus, described a similar method of prayer which he called the use of “fantasy.” Following this tradition, the late Roman Catholic Jesuit, Anthony De Mello recommended the use of imagination in prayer. (Cf. Anthony De Mello, Sadhana: A Way to God, New York: Image Books/Doubleday, 1984).

In this devotional article, I will first present a guided reflection on the first three verses of the 23rd Psalm. I will then propose an exercise for you to do for the second half of Psalm 23. I will close by offering a list of passages from the New Testament that I find particularly conducive to this form of prayer, because of their rich imagery.

An Example of Using Imagination in Reading and Prayer

First, read Psalm 23. Take your time reading it. It will help if you pick your favorite translation of the Psalms. If you normally work with several translations, select the one that you feel suggests to you the most vivid imagery for this popular Psalm. Then, read that translation slowly and carefully. Pretend that you have never seen or heard—or even heard of—Psalm 23 before, and that you are reading it for the first time.

Now reread Psalm 23. However, this time, read the Psalm more slowly. Pay attention to each word as you read it, and take your time. I can best describe the level of concentration you need for this form of prayer by inviting you to read each word as if your very life depended on it—your spiritual life does depend on it!

Notice any mental pictures you form or emotional reactions you have to particular words or phrases. For example, when you read the word, “shepherd,” in verse 1, what do you see in your mind’s eye? Do you see an image of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, dressed in Middle Eastern shepherd’s garb, holding a shepherd’s crook? Or, is Jesus wearing more modern, Western clothing?

When you read “quiet waters,” how does that make you feel? At peace? Happy? Refreshed? Is there anything in the peaceful setting that troubles you, or makes you feel uncomfortable? If there is, spend a little time looking at it. Ask God to give you some insights into what is troubling you and why. Ask Him to help you resolve it. Perhaps the Holy Spirit will lead you to pray about it again, at another time. Follow the Lord’s lead in such cases.

After you have read the Psalm a second time and are ready to continue, indulge in some mental imagery. It will help if you find a quiet place to pray (Cf. Matthew 6:5-6; Mark 1:35). Closing your eyes for this prayer will also help you block out visual distractions. If you have trouble with distractions, simply recognize them and gently bring your mind back to the picture of being in the peaceful, green pasture with Our Lord and the other sheep in His flock. Do not be discouraged by distractions; this type of prayer requires concentration and practice. Pray to the Holy Spirit to help you concentrate. He will help you. After all, the Spirit helps us to pray even though we do not know how to pray properly. (Cf. Romans 8:26).

Close your eyes and try to picture the entire scene described in Psalm 23. Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is present in a beautiful green pastoral field. How does Jesus look? How does Jesus’ face look? Does he smile at you, lovingly? How are Jesus’ mannerisms as He tends the sheep? How does it feel to be with Him?

How do you look? How does it feel to be like one of those sheep? Can you feel docile and calm? What is it like to regain childlike innocence in the presence of the Lord? Observe yourself. What color is your wool? Is your woolly coat white or off-white? Is it black? Have you ever been the “black sheep” of your family, a group of friends, an organization, or society? Have you ever looked at others as “black sheep”?

Are there other sheep present? How do they look? Observe them, as you observed yourself. What color are they? Do you recognize any of them? What are the other sheep doing? Is Jesus talking to them, too?

Jesus gently encourages you to lie down in the meadow to rest. Is the grass tall or short? How does the grass feel when you lie down on it? Is it warm or cool? Is there a covering of the morning’s dew on the blades of grass?

Look up at the sky for a moment. Is it a bright, sunny day? Are there clouds? Is there much wind, or is there stillness in the air.

Now, imagine Jesus leading you to the water and offering it to you. How do you react to this? What does Jesus say to you? What do you say to Him?

Look at the water. Is it in a river? A spring? A lake? Is the water clear? Can you see the reflection of the sun on the water? Can you see the reflection of your own face on the water?

What are the other sheep doing? Are they drinking the water, too? Is Jesus speaking to them? Are they talking to Him? What are they saying?

Take a moment to sip the water. Notice how the water feels as it touches your lips, your tongue, and the roof of your mouth, and pay attention as it reaches your throat. Is the water cool or warm? How does it feel to be refreshed by this water? Drink as much as you like. Jesus offers you as much refreshment as you need.

Spend as much time as you like thinking and praying about this pastoral scene. There is no need to hurry through this prayer. In fact, hurrying will only deprive you of some of the rich fruit this form of prayer can yield.

When you are ready, close this period of prayer by thanking God for all the gifts He has given you, including the gift of your mind and your imagination. Ask Him to help you to pray more and to spend more time with Him. Ask Jesus to help you to be more aware of His presence in every moment of your life. You may find it helpful to close with a short prayer of thanksgiving, or to pray for any intentions you have today, including for your family members, friends, coworkers, and people in your church or small group.

Exercise

The guided reflection above focused on verses 1-3 of Psalm 23. As a follow-up exercise, spend time using your imagination to ponder and pray the remaining verses (4-6) of this beloved Psalm. When you are first learning this technique of prayer, you may find it helpful to pray one verse at a time, especially when you are working with Scripture passages that have such vivid imagery as the 23rd Psalm. Remember to begin your reflection by finding a quiet place without distractions and to close your eyes, if that feels comfortable for you. Again, if you find yourself distracted, don’t fight the distractions, but gently bring your mind back to your prayer and reflection. If you have many distractions, ask God to help you work though them and to help you spend time with Him.

Additional Scripture Passages for Praying Imaginatively

Both the Old and the New Testaments contain countless passages that lend themselves to imaginative reading and prayer. Of course, all Scripture comes from the breath of the Holy Spirit and is useful for teaching and learning. (Cf. 2 Tim. 3:16). Nevertheless, as you begin to use this form of prayer, it may help to have a few selected verses as starting points, so you can devote your attention to the method of prayer rather than selecting the “right” passages to read and pray.

Therefore, to help you get started, I offer the following list of some of my favorite Scripture passages in the New Testament. I have selected these because I find them full of rich imagery and good starting points for prayer. Of course, these selections reflect my own biases and preferences and I have limited my choices to selections from the Gospels, Acts, and Revelation. Still, I hope you find these verses as powerful as I do, and I pray that they will lead you to use your whole mind in prayer.

The Magi visit the newborn Jesus (Matthew 2:1-12)

The devil tempts Jesus in the desert (Matthew 4:1-11)

Jesus teaches about worry (Matthew 6:25-34)

The death of John the Baptist (Mark 6:14-29)

Jesus heals the daughter of a Syrophoenician woman (Mark 7:24-30)

Jesus appears after His resurrection (Mark 16:9-20)

The Nativity of Jesus (Luke 2:1-21)

Jesus calms the storm on the lake (Luke 8:22-25)

The parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32)

Jesus converts the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well (John 4:1-42)

Jesus forgives the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1-11)

Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-44)

Jesus washes the Apostles’ feet (John 13:1-17)

Jesus’ crucifixion and death (John 19:16-37)

Jesus reinstates Peter (John 21:15-25)

Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:1-41)

Peter heals a disabled man (Acts 3:1-10)

Paul’s conversion (Acts 9:1-19)

The New Jerusalem and the river of life (Rev. 21, 22:1-6)

Conclusion

Using our imaginations, as we read God’s word and as we pray, has at least two beneficial effects on our spiritual practice. First, it deepens our experiences of reading and prayer. Second, it eventually brings us into a closer relationship with Our Lord. I hope that this devotional article will help you to pray with more of your being and will help you to grow closer to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

I’m not suggesting that we shouldn’t try to preserve important treasures from our past.  Indeed, such links to ancient worlds have much to teach us.  At the same time, though, it’s useful to ask how long we can preserve those links and at what cost.  Will the new techniques, especially genetically engineering new microbes, create more problems than they solve?  Is it possible that developing some new microbial “antidotes” to the damage caused by other microbes will unleash harmful biological agents into the environment that will damage plant and animal life?

The article quotes biologist Ralph Mitchell:

“Our heritage is disappearing.  Whether it’s Angkor Wat or the Mayan sites in Mexico or the Native American archaeological sites in the West of this country, they are all under threat. And the question is, can we preserve them?”

I agree that whether we can preserve those sites is a question, but not necessarily the question.  We also need to be asking whether we ought to preserve them.

Humans are creating new products of culture every day, all over the world.  I don’t think we can preserve all of them.  Every day, some artifacts are likely to slip into a state in which we can no longer view, or perhaps even recognize, them.  Is that necessarily a problem?  I suppose it’s only a problem if we decide to make it one.  Our desire to preserve everything seems rather silly when we consider the sheer enormity of the task.  The more we create, the more there will be to preserve, and the more matter and energy we will need to preserve it all.  Adding to that problem the need to race against time to fight the inevitable decay and erosion of those artifacts suggests to me that we’re fighting a losing battle.

The poet Shelley wrote movingly of this impossible battle in his sonnet “Ozymandias.”

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

In a delicious irony, in just a few centuries, “Ozymandias” itself will likely be unintelligible in its original language to anyone but a small number of scholars who specialize in studying what we now call “Modern English.”  Poetry doesn’t generally port well from one language to another.  A well-crafted sonnet like “Ozymandias” will lose the beauty of its iambic pentameter–-a poetic meter very common in Modern English-–and its charming rhyme scheme with all its subtlety.  I don’t know what the successor to Modern English will be, but if the past is an accurate predictor of the future, speakers of that later language will not read “Ozymandias” with the same appreciation we have when we read it today.

Of course, the new tongue–-let’s call it “Post-modern English”–-will have its own subtleties and beauties that would probably escape any of us who could see it now, if we could see it now.  But that’s precisely the point.  The full appreciation of products of human culture is tied to living in that culture, in its particular time and place.  Any other appreciation is an approximation whose accuracy and rich meaning seem inevitably to diminish as one moves further away from the original time and place of the artifact’s creation.

Is there a lesson lurking in all of this?  I believe so.  The lesson is: enjoy it to the fullest here and now! Like everything else in our world, those cultural treasures are changing; they won’t always be with us in their current forms, so make the most of them today.  Our universe is marked by impermanence.  We may be able to preserve the treasures of the past a little longer through human effort, but we won’t be able to preserve them forever.  The ancient phrase, carpe diem, captures this sentiment pithily; the urgency is real.  Enjoy!  Don’t wait!

Several years ago, I trained at Chicago’s storied Windy City Boxing Gym. (It has since closed due to some building code violations in the old warehouse where the gym owners had rented space.) It was in a fairly rough part of the city and was a classic boxing gym, with a rich past, like something out of a movie.

Aside from Todd Collins, my first coach at Windy City, no one there knew my name. All the guys just called me “Lawyer.” It seems everyone had a nickname–Mad Dog, Underdog, Crusher–and “Lawyer” was mine.

Although I was a “serious” amateur boxer who competed, I guess some of the guys there at first dismissed me as someone who was just trying the sport as a fitness regimen and was not going to work hard. I didn’t even perceive that until the first time I sparred at Windy City, but that experience let me know some of the men thought I was merely dabbling in the sweet science and not to be taken seriously.

In those days, I was training regularly with the rest of the amateurs in the late afternoons. The coach we had was a smart guy; he would not just “throw me in there” for sparring until he was convinced that I really had boxed before and knew what I was doing. Even so, after a week of training with the guys, our coach told me I was going to spar that day.

After putting on my foul protector, headgear, and gloves and inserting my mouthpiece, I climbed into the ring and began to move around a bit as I waited for my sparring partner to get suited up. I had sparred in that ring before (while training with my previous coach), so I felt comfortable there. As I did a little shadowboxing, I saw a few of the other boxers standing outside the ring talking quietly and chuckling. Two of them put their hands over their mouths and pointed to me and laughed. They expected me to get my ass handed to me and may even have been eager to see that happen.

Eventually, my sparring partner entered the ring. He was a Hispanic kid whose nickname was El Gallo (”Rooster”). I was 33 at the time and he was about ten years younger than I. The other fellow clearly felt as comfortable in that ring as I did. He was friendly enough, but I knew he’d be all business in the sparring. My assessment was accurate: El Gallo was all business in there, and so was I.

He and I mixed it up for three hard rounds before our coach said, “Good work, men,” and told another pair of boxers that they were to be next in the ring. Although El Galloand I were pretty evenly matched, I felt good because if it had been a scored bout, I was pretty sure I’d have won every round. It was close, to be sure, but my partner had a habit of holding his right out a bit too far from his face and that made it fairly easy to score with my left hook. Taking advantage of his surprise, I was usually able to follow up the hook with a quick jab to the face, and once or twice even with a good right cross. It was good work, as boxers often call sparring, and we were both fairly tired at the end of it.

After shaking hands and congratulating one another on some good practice, El Galloand I climbed out of the ring to let the next boxers have their turn. The same guys who had been laughing and pointing before the sparring came up to me. To my surprise, they were all enthusiastic and full of praise. “Great job, man!” said one of them, high-fiving me. Another added, “Yeah, you really looked good in there. Dude, you know what you’re doing. Wow!”

At first, I was a little taken aback by the comments. “Well, what the hell did you expect?” I said to myself. My initial resentment didn’t last long; it was melted by the enthusiastic smiles of the men who clearly considered me a new friend. The price for entry into their brotherhood was clearly to do well in a sparring session, or at least to have the courage to get into the ring and trade some punches.

Their congratulations were sincere. Although they had been skeptical, the guys who had expected to see a young lawyer get his ass kicked by a “real” boxer were happily surprised to see the lawyer hold his own and even do a decent job of pressuring his sparring partner during a tough three rounds.

After that day, I was treated differently. I could sense the changed attitude those men had toward me. In a place where what one does for a living counts for little, if anything, the guys enthusiastically accepted me as one of their own. Everyone still called me “Lawyer” for the duration of my stay at Windy City, but that had become an affectionate nickname rather than a skeptical, even somewhat derisive moniker. I had passed my initiation into the fraternity of fisticuffs. Yes, I was still a lawyer, but far more importantly, in the eyes of my gym mates, I was a boxer. A real boxer. Just like them.

A lawyer, a judge, and an oil driller
Walk into a bar. Really, they do.

The light in the bar is dim,
Not too bright, not too low.

There are no black robes here,
Just brown beer bottles.

No banging of the gavel,
Just the clinking of glasses.

No passionate legal argument,
Just passionate argument.

No one asks for cites
Except for football stats—

And even then, only for the ones
That seem a bit too inflated for truth.

So, you’re a federal judge, huh?
Well, la-dee-da-dee-dah!

I’d have guessed you were a custodian
Wearing a tie like that.

But what do I know?
I’m just a lawyer, Mr. Federal judge.

Still, as I savor my Stella Artois,
I see you’re not a bad guy, Mr. Judge.

I don’t oppose all government,
Just most government.

Even so, I know the creeping encroachment
Of the feds upon the states is not your fault.

Well, not your fault, mostly,
Even though you’re part of the “system.”

I’m a libertarian, see—the feds are out of control—
But you already knew that.

The judge nods knowingly, seemingly unconcerned,
As he regales us with his tales

Of a southern Illinois you might not ever see,
If you’re lucky, that is.

So pour me another, Lisa,
Please, and one for the judge and the oilman, too;

Soon we must head out
Into September’s waning hours.

Who knows what will happen?
We might not meet again.

But oh, when the days shorten
And the chilly winds come with all their
Howling and shivering, and the raindrops turn
To tiny chips of ice that sparkle in the
Moonlight as they fall, oh, how different it is then!
In those days, we’ve felt the pain of one-too-many
Loss, we’ve cried at one-too-many gravesite, we’ve
Winced at yet another injury.

Where, then, are our spring hope, our youthful yearning,
Our green resilient branches reaching for the sun?
Have they all turned brown and shriveled from
Unquenched thirst? Have they wilted from a life
Too long, too hard, yet seemingly all too brief?
Have they crumbled and cracked and sunk into
The earth from whence they came: hiding, hibernating,
And recharging, one day to grow again?

The little boy in me wants just to play;
The grown man knows the work that must be done.
It’s sometimes sad to live as an adult
With duties getting in the way of fun.
But we must do our best to carry on
And act responsibly.  For who will do
The many tasks our complex world requires
If we shirk our responsibilities?

The days are gone when I can phone my friends,
And say to Tim and Bill and Mark and Pat,
“I’ve got the ball; I’ll meet you at the park,”
And spend the wintry day in boyish bliss.

It’s sad because I miss those simpler days
And wonder how I can recapture them.
The football game in snow will have to wait
At least until tonight or Saturday.
Our families and our pets must all be fed–
If only they all, too, would play instead!

Our lives may be a little more secure
If only ’cause we earn our daily bread
And have a little more direct control
Of how our time and money will be spent.

Responsibility demands we give
Our talent, time, and treasure to our work.
We’ve gained so many things now as adults,
But still I wonder why the cost’s so high.

I met Fritz when he and Mark lived on Chicago’s South Side.  As a result of my move last September, I lived just a short walk from their home.  As such, I got to see Fritz a lot.  He was always friendly to me and, as he got to know me better, was even more affectionate and eager to be close to me, even sitting on my lap.  I was always happy to spend some time with him.  I enjoyed petting him and brushing him.  I liked it when he pressed his gums and teeth on my hands and clothing to leave his scent on me and when he grabbed my hand and held it between his paws.

Fritz visited my new home on Thanksgiving Day.  It was a new place and he was a little scared, finding places to hide and try to make himself comfortable.  Despite his initial fear, he did manage to make enough appearances to delight my parents and specifically my mom, who is disabled from a traumatic brain injury.  Those moments were especially moving to me.

The following week, after seeing how much my mom liked Fritz and thinking it would be therapeutic for her, Mark invited my parents to visit him and Fritz at their home.  I joined the four of them and had a very enjoyable evening.  At his own home, Fritz was naturally more at ease and was quite comfortable sitting or lying down next to Dad and Mom.  Near the end of the visit, Fritz was lying right next to my mom.  Mom was happy; Fritz seemed safe, comfortable, and content.  These are happy memories for me.  I am grateful to Mark and Fritz for making them happen.

I received a special gift the day before Fritz passed away.  Since I work from a home office and, with some basic accommodation, can work almost anywhere, Mark was concerned about Fritz’s health (Fritz had gone to the vet the weekend before that day), so he invited me to work from his home so that I could stay with Fritz.  I was honored and happy to do it.  Out of respect for Fritz, I won’t recount details of that daylong visit.  I’ll just say that I am deeply blessed to have had the time to spend with him that day.

Losing Fritz is painful.  I will miss him, but I also feel for my friend Mark, too, and hope he will be consoled.  This is a difficult time.

I’ve written before about Flopsy, a miniature schnauzer, and my parents’ second dog. She passed away in 2002.  Yes, I have missed that sweet little dog. But I have been comforted in the more recent years. My understanding of birth and death is a lot different now. I probably value life even more, but I also feel like I don’t really believe in birth and death. I have learned that those two events are relatively arbitrary points on a vast, ongoing continuum of life.

I have been especially reassured by some of the writings of the Zen teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh. His writing has shown me that one can take a bigger view of life, a view that is not limited by time or space, birth or death, coming or going, being or non-being, coming or going. Let me quote a few of his words here.

The day my mother died I wrote in my journal, A serious misfortune of my life has arrived. I suffered for more than one year after the passing away of my mother. But one night, in the highlands of Vietnam, I was sleeping in the hut in my hermitage. I dreamed of my mother. I saw myself sitting with her and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, her hair flowing down. It was so pleasant to sit there and talk to her as if she had never died.

When I woke up it was about two in the morning and I felt very strongly as though I had never lost my mother. The impression that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother is always alive in me.

Since there is much more to the teaching, here is the link to the complete article from which those quoted paragraphs come.

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/113/story_11310.html

If you enjoy that one, here is one more to savor.

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/113/story_11309.html

In my own faith tradition, Paul writes:

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which will be revealed toward us. For the creation waits with eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to vanity, not of its own will, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of decay into the liberty of the glory of the children of God.”

Romans 8:18-21 (WEB)

More specifically about pets, Wallace Sife assures us that All Pets Go to Heaven.  For a nice multimedia presentation of the “Rainbow Bridge” poem, visit this page.

Just a little more than 10 years ago, I would have said some of this was crazy talk. That was before my awakening began. It has been a long process, this waking up, but each day, each moment that I am mindful of my life, I wake just a little more and see reality a bit more clearly.

My parents’ first dog, Mopsy, grew up with my brother and me. That dear little dog passed away in 1989. I’ve cried a lot of tears over Flopsy and Mopsy–and lately for Fritz, too–but I have been consoled more recently and I recall these consolations to help me get through the times when I miss them all a lot.

In December 2005, while I was on vacation on the Florida Gulf coast, I was taking a leisurely, but mindful walk along the beach. Walking shirtless in the wet sand near the water’s edge, I noticed the endless progression of waves. They rose, they fell. They came, they went. Some were big, some were small. Yet, for the first time I can remember, I saw much more than the waves. Within and all around the waves, I saw water, the ground or essence of being of the waves. I was deeply calmed and at peace by this realization. All the vicissitudes of life, the birth and the death, and the endless changes we experience were still there, but I saw into the nature of them and of me. I was no longer frightened.

As the sun’s light shone on the sea’s sparkling surface, to my left I saw pelicans flying over the water. To my right, a crowd of seagulls were resting on the warm, dry sand. As I continued walking, I had to look twice, but I saw both Mopsy and Flopsy playing in the waves. As the small waves broke on the shore, those two little dogs were rolling and running and tumbling over one another. The sound of the gently splashing water was like the happy panting of two dogs enjoying themselves in the present moment–the only place where dogs live. At that moment, I saw them, present, alive, well, and joyful, years after they had passed away and just over a thousand miles from where they had lived in Chicago. Having seen them, I am at peace. I know they are always with me. Although I have not yet seen Fritz playing in those waves, I know it’s just a matter of time before I spot him there, or in a place that might be more to a cat’s liking. For that, I am blessed and very grateful.