My whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that these interruptions were my work. —Henri Nouwen
* * *
This is my work. It requires concentration. I don’t like interruptions.
Last week my work was interrupted by dogs. Six months ago Thelma and Otis arrived here as puppies—yapping, romping, tumbling, and sleeping all night and half the day together. Cute. Cuddly. Adorable.
Last week they were neutered.
They came home wearing cones on their heads. Not proudly, I should say. After hanging together every day for six months, they are now segregated for 14 days lest their flappy tongues undo the other’s stitches.
They are not happy. They whimper and whine, wail and yelp. Spasmodically. Piercingly. Interminably.
It’s annoying. An interruption for sure! I should be grateful, but I’m not Henri Nouwen. I’m not that advanced.
Okay. I get it. I need to work on gratitude this week, not another Devil’s Gift post.
Years ago, on a whim, I decided to spend one full day practicing gratitude for anything and everything that came my way. It was a St. Francis thing that I’d just heard about.
I headed out from Shepherdstown on my bike for a 40-mile ride, determined. At the first serious, knee-screaming climb, I gave thanks for the hill. I rode on. I got a flat tire and gave thanks. Not cheerfully, I should say. I fixed the tire and rode on.
It rained. I gave thanks. I took shelter under a pavilion and gave thanks. The sun came out. I gave thanks. I rode on. Thirty-five miles down, five to go. I was leading the Tour de France to the finish line, baby. Wind at my back.
I rode into Sharpsburg, turned onto a side street and—LOOK OUT—my front tire skidded on a wet grate. I flew off the bike, slammed my head against a curb, blacked out, and woke up with a small crowd gathered around. My white jersey was splattered with blood.
(Fortunately, I was wearing a helmet, otherwise this page would be blank.)
A stranger took me to the ER in Martinsburg. I was patched up and sent home with a bruised body, cradling my cracked helmet in my hands.
I was thankful.
Yes, this is my work. Practicing gratitude is too. I’d forgotten.
Tonight I’ll hug those annoying dogs and happily take a lickin’.
