Golden Retriever
Just days away from the arrival of her first litter, Miss Gracie, the Golden Retriever, is doing far more snoring than retrieving. Burdened with a load of pups soon to worm their way to the daylight she is almost mournfully lethargic. The once ambitious discoverer of all things interesting in the yard and fields is now quite satisfied to find a place suitable for depositing her business so she can return to her place of repine in the cool air conditioned space of the old farm house. Her desire to be close seems to have intensified, but our times of “lap petting” have diminished because of her discomfort and weight. We now spend time massaging her ever widening belly and rubbing her head and neck. Nature will soon take its course and the pups will begin their descent through the birth canal to be welcomed by jubilant hosts and a somewhat relieved mother. We will give thanks one by one and encourage Gracie as she engages her motherly instincts at whelping. Although our knowledge of science has increased with greater understanding of the union of gametes to begin the process that leads to gestation we are still in awe of the way in which each of us are uniquely (and even Divinely) designed. Today we linger a little longer at the place of thanks as we lift our minds in gratitude to the place of our beginnings.
Gracie, my Golden Retriever, has an affinity for a piece of rolled up rawhide. She lies patiently chewing on the seemingly endless supply of hardened hide, making some headway and enjoying every nibble of the journey. She has three other “toys” between which she alternates. Her knotted and braided rope is flung haphazardly about the living room, hallway, and kitchen floors. An occasional tussle with her doggie crafted ball resembling a tennis ball somehow escapes her interest quickly. At other moments I am amazed at her agility tossing her personalized washcloth as she lies on her back, feet to the air, clutching the cloth gleefully with her front paws. Alas, rope, ball and cloth are surrendered as she returns to her passion, the rawhide. Gracie has several outdoor activities at which she excels as well, but her passion seems to always return to the rawhide even after a stent in Dad’s lap of reassurance. Were she in a different environment, I dare say her passions and proclivities would be the same. So it is with us humans. We have those things which we can do, those which we like to do and then those things for which we have a passion. As I have been blessed with time and experiences through these few years of life, I have grown to uncover those things for which I have a passion. Out of those things I have learned I can do, and those that I like to do I have uncovered those things for which I have a passion to do. Among those has emerged a deeper understanding of my passion to share my heart for life and the beauty that lies within that life. Whether on the farm, in the city, or by the shore, the passion that is God’s gift remains the same. Whether stiff or agile, shaking or finely flexible, the presence of passion is there to motivate and I thank the Giver of passion for being at the center. Now, Gracie and I may gleefully share our respective passions within the same space as we digest these thoughts.