Trot, prance, fly, marvel ...alive

Last night, I tried to get some journaling done at Starbucks but got distracted by what ended up being a conversation held with some friends for about 90 minutes. Our conversation finally ended not because we ran out of things to talk about, but because we were sitting outside and it started to rain. The rain reminded us all that we had other things we were "supposed" to be doing. As we scattered, one of them apologized for keeping me from getting my work done. I said it was alright because - honestly - I'd get distracted if I were home too. I prefer, though, to be interrupted by the interaction with real life, as opposed to wasting my life away doing something numbing like incessantly surfing Facebook.

I'm dog sitting this weekend and this morning I set out to take Lucy and Trotsky on a walk. The rain continued off and on, but left me with a waiting, cloudy sky for the duration of our walk. I realized that although I love the rain, it's been a while since I've actually been in it. There's something about being outside that allows one to experience the full magic and beauty of a rainy day. As we walked, gusts of wind blew the trees, sending small, but fierce showers down on whatever might be nearby. The clouds hung in steely blue and even the air held the smell of rain. I took the dogs down to the park near the neighborhood and we walked around the baseball field. My rainboots made delightful sloppy, squishing sounds in the wet grass as I watched the dogs splash through puddles.
In the outfield, Trotsky suddenly burst into so much excited energy that he started racing around in frenzied circles, unable to contain himself or his happiness at...I don't know what. Perhaps his delight simply came from being a dog on a rainy day in a great field for running in. I kept him on the extended leash at first and let him race around and around like a powerful kite. Finally, though, I decided that I was putting my arm at risk for being dislocated with some of the quick jerks and tugs he made, so I let him off the leash. I wish I could express what a joy it was to watch him. A Saluki - a sort of Egyptian greyhound - he was made to run, but "run" might be an understatement. He raced as fast as he could in large circles around me, occasionally prancing to a halt to wait for me to egg him on. Then, he'd tear off again or perhaps make rushes at Lucy in attempts at antagonizing her into play. (She's old and didn't feel much like running.) Gracefully jumping through the air, the feathers on his legs, tail, and long ears made it seem even more like he had wings and was flying. I laughed, cheered him on, rushed at him to keep him from harassing Lucy too much, and also rubbed Lucy's ears and neck to keep her from feeling neglected. When I finally put him back on his leash, his legs and underbelly were soaked.

I learned a lesson from this dog - simply delighting in being alive and in the world on a day like today.

Walking back, feeling the warmth of my body in my jacket contrasted with the cold wind chilling my face - blowing through my hair, tussling and curling it - I understood how Elizabeth Bennet must have felt when she took her walk through the wet fields to see her sister at Mr. Bingly's. She arrived, much to the horror of the other ladies, a "mess" but filled with exuberant life after tactually experiencing the beauty of the world around her. I thought also of how C.S. Lewis experienced the world around him - with a sense of awe and mystery, convinced that the magical beauty around him pointed to an absolute Creator God.

Walking back, I rejoiced at a God who would interrupt me with conversations of theology and laughter and bless me with walks of beauty and life.