The Imposition is an Invitation

I sat down on the floor a few days ago to put on my walking shoes. I’m not sure how Grizzly knows, maybe the 300 million olfactory receptors in his nose, compared to six million in mine; but he had his long nose all up in my face and arms as I was trying to tie my shoes.

“Grizzly!  You’re all over the place,” I said , exasperated at him for using his long nose as an instrument to direct my head and hands where he wanted them to go.  He obviously knows my putting on these shoes signals a walk.  His oversized animation was annoying me until I suddenly paused, realizing who he is and what I’d just said.  

This is the dog that came into my life as a result of what happened Jan. 6, 2018.  This is the dog that I took into my life when it made no sense to do so and asked God, “What truth is coming to liberate me embodied in a shiny black coat and bounding on enormous paws?’     This is the dog that has taught me to pay attention to what I say and how I pray.    

You’re all over the place! 

What felt annoying in that moment was  Grizzly’s excitement at going out to walk with me,   his bodily expression of his desire to be with me. What seemed to be slowing me down was his nudging me in anticipation of this time we spend together.  What came out of my mouth as annoyance and criticism is actually my comfort - He longs to be with me. 

God is all over the place. His spirit is everywhere. In our neighbors, our family members, the wind, the music, the words, the flowers, and the redbirds.  He’s got 300 million or more ways He can come to us - if we let Him.  

Here it is Ash Wednesday and I haven’t written about Epiphany yet! I chalked my doors on January 6th this year with Acts 17:28 and I had the best of intentions to write about that practice, to tell you that I was praying “In Him we live and move and have our being” over the members of my household this year. I mark not only the day’s importance on the liturgical calendar but also in my own life as the anniversary of that traumatic experience that God has used for good in my life.

  I wanted you to know  “Communion” was my word for this year.  I write it in my journal most mornings and look for it throughout my day.  God is faithful.  When we ask Him to show up, He does.  The question is: Will we see and hear? 

But as I wrote in my last post, three seminary classes this quarter has upended my rhythm and I find myself on Ash Wednesday not having written those words for you and “remembering that I am dust.”  I’m a finite human being who makes plans and has ideas and wants to do more than is actually possible.   Sometimes that ends up looking chaotic and making me feel lost in my own life.  I am not lost.  This ridiculously large dog is here to remind me that God is all over the place. I do not live and move and exist anywhere that He is not. 

At the imposition of the ashes today, the priest reminded us that Lent invites us to be discontent with the state of our souls. It invites us to long for more, to go deeper with God, to step away from one thing or embrace another that will usher us deeper into communion with Him.

Whatever I do or do not do, the universe continues to be upheld, daffodils bloom and babies are born and rain falls and sheep grow wool.   The unfathomable, mysterious, immense God who does all that is right here nudging me to just take a walk, be with him, notice his presence and remember that though I am dust, He has breathed into me His spirit and I am his beloved.