Did I Mention?

I love the little guy, but I declare sometimes Bullet is an idiot.
Albeit a healing wound, the dog still has a wound on his head.
He has a wound on his head from fighting or playing with other dogs.
On tonight’s walk, he decided to mark his territory in the yard of a Scooby-Dog.
He went around and peed on everything,
dug his feet into the ground and kicked his legs back as if to say,
“Yeh, dog. That’s right. I just peed in your yard. Take that,”
then went up to the Scooby-Dog,
did the butt-sniffing circle dance, taunted him a bit, and chased him into his backyard.
Did I mention that Bullet does not know this dog?
Did I mention that this dog is four times Bullet’s size?
Did I mention that this dog could have easily added more wounds to Bullet’s head and body?
Yet…I’m pretty sure that Bullet wasn’t thinking about any of these things.
And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any idea how lucky he is that
the Scooby-Dog just wanted to play…
and that I stopped him from running into the road just before a car zoomed by.

…

I was the last person to leave school today. Literally.
And I was even given a thirty minute time extension by the assistant principal.
As I hastily tried to finish getting my room ready for summer break,
I thought to myself, “I think I may have a spot of OCD.”
Then I thought to myself, in the spirit of Barb, “You think?”
I’m almost always the last person to finish packing my stuff.
It was this way at Governor’s School, Summer Ventures, camp, and all of my previous schools.
It was also this way in SC when I was last person to finish packing my office for an inner building move.
The problem is that I can’t just pack up.
My brain tells me that I need to pack with the intention of unpacking
and that I need to leave the space as good as or better than I found it.
So I end up packing in past, present, and future—
all at once—and
I end up being really particular and taking a lot of time—
Hence my being the last person finished.

…

A year ago this month, I had no idea that I’d be the last one leaving the school where I’d just completed my ninth year of teaching.
I wasn’t planning to teach again.
I was busy finding my territory in the world of chaplaincy,
Planting my feet on the ground and opening my heart as if to say,
“Yeh, world. That’s right. I’ve been struck down but I’m not destroyed.”
Did I mention that I really didn’t know the school—and that what I knew wasn’t good?
Did I mention that the school is twice the size of my previous schools?
Did I mention that the job could have easily added more wounds to my heart?
Yet…I’m pretty sure I wasn’t really thinking about any of those things when
I walked out of my interview in tears,
feeling as if the light of God were shining upon me while the voices of angels sang.
And I’m pretty sure I’m still realizing how blessed I am that
God led me back into the classroom.

…

I guess life isn’t fully life without taking risks—
without exploring new territory and approaching Scooby-Dogs—
without wandering away from a career for awhile and coming back to the voices of angels.

…

Maybe Bullet isn’t an idiot after all.