For those days when you do all the work:
Read everything possible
Talk it through
Push and pull, stretch and twist
Even write! And write again…
And still, despite it all,
(or perhaps because of;
all that preparation can be constipating)
You walk the dog –
-proudly, without
any indication of what an ugly
mangy mutt you see
at the end of that verbal leash –
We pray.
Still, we pray all the more
for the whispered rustlings
stirring among disjointed words;
for the flowing, and the crackle,
upward-seeping capillary phrasing
Spirit.
The one who grooms the matted fur
stripping away muddied words,
flea-bitten clichés…
Who trims away the snarls
And maybe even adds the bow-around-the-neck
of recognition
self-reflection
challenge
or Word
To the dogbreath-slobbery mess
I was trying to preach.
Come, Holy Spirit,
Even when I’m waking the dog.
Remind me that I do not walk it alone:
that some dogs are so homely they’re cute;
that all dogs were created by the One
who called me to this crazy preaching thing
in the first place,
And who will not let me fall so totally
flat
that I forget,
in my doggiest days,
I do not walk alone.
Some days we need the reminder that
even dogs,
with all their mess and slobber,
are a part of your creation.

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