Dogs

Who can make a dog? Really, aren't they the most awesome creatures? Think about it. There are all kinds of animals that serve a purpose in the grand design of life but what about the dear old dog? A dog isn't vital to the food chain (well, at least not in most countries), he doesn't build anything or dam up a river or catch small rodents for the most part. My terrier Trudie caught a squirrel once but I think the squirrel was on his cell phone texting or otherwise distracted because that just doesn't happen as a rule. Most dogs I know of have no purposeful daily function. They're like really great little kids that don't talk, misbehave only occasionally and are hairy.

Not too long ago I used to consider my beloved aunt and uncle and think them a little misguided. Their children were grown and they had these two dogs and a home and this huge bus in which they would travel the country. They treated their little dachshunds as if they were children. They verbally expressed their love to the dogs in embarrassingly ridiculous language. One of their beloved weenie dogs was somehow injured, paralyzed I think, and they had an intricate little wheelchair-like cart for him. They would harness him into this when they took him for a walk. It was like a little doggie rickshaw but instead of carrying paying customers it carried his hind quarters. I remember squelching laughter the first time I saw this. Are you serious? It's a dog for crying out loud.

Then I married into a dog family. I came from cats. Mom always had cats and they were kind of cool. They were aloof and complex. They didn't really require much attention and always seemed to be up to something sinister. I liked to bother them until they flipped on their backs and did that hind leg kick-scratching thing. I always came away a little bloody but that didn't stop me from doing it. A little masochistic now that I think about it.

But then I married into dogs. Immediately I spotted that same devoted parental behaviour I saw in my aunt and uncle. One time my mother-in-law's dachshund (oddly enough another weenie dog) wandered off and there was full scale panic until she returned home. Another time my wife's schnauzer developed what turned out to be a harmless fatty tumor and it brought her to tears. What's up? I remember thinking. It's a dog for crying out loud.

The trick is you can't look into their eyes. Once you start looking, really looking deep into their eyes, you're hooked. My wife had Mattie the schnauzer a couple years before I came into the picture. I remember petting the dog one time and she looked up at me with those big brown eyes that said, "I tolerated you for awhile but now that I see you're going to hang around I guess I'll let you love me". Before she looked away I was hooked.

Now I live alone again.... except for Trudie. I really hope I'm not weird. I hope I don't dote on her like my aunt and uncle did their dogs but I'm afraid I do. I know she's just a dog and I don't ever want to become one of those mentally unbalanced souls that can't relate to humans because they shower all of their waking attention and affection on an animal. I don't want to cross that line. What amazes me and fills me with inspiration though is a Creator who can fashion a creature whose sole purpose seems to be to make me happy. I've never seen such excitement register in such a little hairy body as Trudie's when I come home from work! She is devoted to me completely. She may not be able to kick-scratch but she lives to fetch and play Frisbee! When I lay back in my recliner and she cuddles up in my lap I drift off to sleep and all is right with the world.

Just don't look long into their eyes. You will be hooked.

Thoughts on Christmas

I wish writing came really easy. I wish it wasn't work. I want all these random thoughts that come springing forth to shape themselves so that the process easily flows and everyone says, "what a great writer he is" and "I wish I could say it like that". It isn't like that though. The crazy thing is, after 2 beers I think it's like that and I'll post most anything. I once sent a rambling email to my pastor and it embarrasses me now when I peek back into "sent mail" and see it there. I can imagine him, eyebrow raised a bit and his head cocked to the side thinking, "I believe Dave had two beers before he wrote this".

Christmas 2009 came. And it went. Five years ago I was part of a larger family. I was married and my wife's family always made such a wonderful Christmas celebration. Christmas eve was at my in-laws' home and there was food and frivolity and dogs running everywhere (always more dogs than kids). We began a Christmas morning tradition that included breakfast at our house where we opened stockings while feasting on some kind of egg/sausage/hash brown casserole. I am grateful for those days.

Since 2006 it's been quite different. There was plenty of time right after the divorce to wallow in self-pity. I remember thinking, as that first post-divorce holiday season approached, "I'm going to be spending Christmas in this little apartment all by myself!" I will admit that it was a bit scary. I prayed at my bedside Christmas eve and I gotta tell you, there was an honesty about that prayer. I was whining like a baby and complaining all the while knowing I was to blame for my circumstances. Prayer in times like that is difficult for me. I always picture God like an angry parent saying, "well maybe you'll think before you go off half-cocked and do something that stupid again".

But what surprised me was that God was so comfortingly close. Kind of in spite of myself. It's like when I was a kid and got my fingers caught in my grandmother's wringer washing machine. I was hurt and scared and she scooped me up and let me nestle in her lap while she lulled me to peace in her rocking chair. Yes it was my fault. I had slipped a piece of paper between the rollers on that machine so I could see how squeezed it would become. Like putting a penny on the railroad tracks to see it after the locomotive went by knowing when I retrieved it from the tracks it would be flat as a pancake and at least the size of a half dollar. Nothing like that happened to the paper though. It just sat there all wet and went 'round and 'round on the roller. Thinking I'd better retrieve it, I put my fingers up there so I could scrape it from the roller as it came by. The rollers weren't having any of that. They live for little boy's fingers! Slowly I watched helpless as my index and middle finger were pulled between the merciless rollers. I remember screaming. Grandma came quickly in her uneven gait down the stairs and saved me. God was just like that that Christmas eve night. Only bigger.

Now Christmas is singing carols with a group of friends at a home where a young wife has terminal cancer as she celebrates what will likely be her last Christmas here on earth. A holy time. Christmas is taking some hot coffee, biscuits and gloves to folks who live in a tunnel downtown. It's squelching my pride, at least for a few hours, to accept a dinner invitation at a friend's home with her three sons. Don't get me wrong. I would love to have the joyous family celebration again and the opportunities to serve were there all the time. Maybe I just had to wake up a bit. Maybe it helped to be squeezed a little.

Eating, Drinking and Working

This book of Ecclesiastes is probably not meant as a quick and cheerful read. There is so much here that on the surface sounds sad. Much of what I read seems to teach that life may not have the depth of meaning I thought it did. Nevertheless I will read it again and continue to pray through it. I've learned over the years that understanding the Bible takes time and disciplined study.

I had to smile when I read chapter 10, verse 2. This is an obvious verse in support of Republicans and against Democrats. Listen: "A wise man's heart inclines him to the right, but a fool's heart to the left." Some things are just so clear!

Chapter 8:11-13 rang true. "Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil. Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life, yet I know it will be well with those that fear God, because they fear before Him. But it will not be well with the wicked, neither will he prolong his days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God." I may not get all of that but oh it's so true. It is easy to continue in sin because punishment is not always immediate.

There was this one thread that kept popping up. Well, okay there were several. Like the "all is vanity part." That repeats like the steady dripping of a faucet throughout the book. I still don't know what to make of that. But the part that caught my interest occurs in one form or another in 2:24, 3:13, 3:22, 5:18, 8:15, 9:7. Solomon keeps up the refrain that to eat, drink and enjoy our work is a gift from God. How utterly practical. How terrific this is! I like to eat and I like to drink. I do really enjoy my work. I haven't always liked my job but, for the most part, there has always been a measure of pleasure in the daily grind. So... this is God's gift to me. And to you.

So, I'll thank Him for the pizza, the Coca Cola, the frosty glass of Heineken, the hot cup of fresh brewed coffee and the occasional treat my brother-in-law takes off the grill. I'll wonder at His creative genius to make a tongue that senses such pleasure in these things. I'll worship Him with my joy in my work as I serve my customers and I'll be grateful for each paycheck knowing He gives me the ability to get wealth (Deuteronomy 8:18).

Now, about that vanity part.....

What Not to do Should You Become Depressed

I heard from a friend tonight. He told me his parents are separated and may be getting a divorce. I've been through divorce and I remember the twisted gut pain of the moment. It wrenched anew each morning when the fog of sleep lifted and I became conscious of the reality that something was moving interminably toward a conclusion I couldn't control. I had been so used to fudging for just a wee bit more time to get all the pieces of any problem in just the right orientation so I could pull off a splendid resolution. Or, at least procrastinate long enough for another crisis to take center stage. Finally my marriage ended; I couldn't save it. The time for saving it had past. I was probably at work or watching T.V. and it slipped by unnoticed like homely girl in the hallway at school. I remember the warning signs. I remember her telling me what bothered her and when. I think I tried to manage the problems like a homework assignment.

So now on Friday nights I sit in my favorite chair and rub my devoted dog's head. I waste time on Facebook and hear the echos of well-meaning friends saying, "everyone is meant for someone" and "you just haven't met the right woman yet". Oh yes, then there's the ever helpful, "I have someone I'd like you to meet." Right now I am certain that I lack the strength to carry all of this baggage into one more relationship.

I smile and remember that I really am just a mist. I am here for just a brief moment and then I'm gone. All these words I write will be forgotten, every song I've labored over will be remembered by no one. My loves and losses at first may be remembered by some but then they will all slip into the more distant past where all is finally forgotten. Depressing.

So I click over to espn.com and see what the prognosticators say about tomorrow's upcoming college football games. My laptop has become my T.V. I can waste time very effectively surfing the internet. I need to pick up a book and read. I need to study for an upcoming class. At the very least I could get up and file the papers that are cluttering my desk. Yet all this would take energy I cannot muster at the moment. Besides, I'd have to move my dog off my lap and she seems quite comfortable.

I feel like we were made for more. God has set eternity in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Uh oh. Maybe it's best not to quote Ecclesiastes - especially if I am feeling a bit down. One look into those 12 chapters again and depression is a certainty. Like a driver with his neck craned to see a traffic accident he really doesn't wish to see, I grab my Bible and look into the Old Testament book...

Simple Service

Having no television is one of the best ways to communicate spiritual superiority without overtly broadcasting how you've grown in Christ. It comes up in conversations like this, "So, what about that Letterman interview with Christina Applegate? Was she on drugs or what?" or "Did you see Supernanny with the Silva family and their seven children?" I smile with my head slightly cocked to the right and say, "oh, sorry... I don't have a television. I missed that." People stare at you. They're trying to determine if you're kidding. When they gather you're telling the truth they become incredulous. "No T.V.? But, uh, wha, how," they stammer. "Well, you see" I begin, "the Holy Spirit was dealing with me about how many hours I fritter away in front of the television dulling my mind in pursuit of entertainment that has no eternal significance whatsoever." As that is sinking in I share with them what I've learned from Neil Postman's excellent study "Amusing Ourselves to Death" which decries our reliance on television so much that he purports we no longer engage in meaningful conversation unless it entertains. Certain by now the Holy Spirit is grateful I have enlightened one more soul about the dangers of television, I smugly offer thoughtful helps on how they might wean themselves from this insidious evil.


Tonight my brother called me and I was right in the middle of looking at someone's photos on Facebook. I was annoyed having to answer the phone. The number of people I enjoy talking to on the telephone for any length of time I can count on one hand. One finger, in fact. And he's not the finger. "Yeah, what's up?" I answer curtly. He tells me a little about his day and asks if I need anything for tomorrow's cook out. I tell him I have it all covered while I sit clicking through photos. He rambles on about this and that while I try to give him polite verbal cues that I'm otherwise occupied and not into this conversation. He mentions something about being limited to just four or five television channels since some nearby cable work began. Suddenly I'm back in the dialogue, "You ought to try no channels," I interject wryly. He gets my meaning immediately and offers, "I don't know how you can take it. If I didn't have T.V. to watch I'd go nuts!"


"What you really mean," I offer," is that without a T.V. you'd have to converse with someone, read a book or otherwise engage in a meaningful activity." A familiar nudge taps my spirit as if to say, "yeah, like looking at photos on Facebook of a friend's family you don't even know and being so engrossed in this meaningful activity you respond with annoyance when your brother calls." Ouch! Where'd that come from? Now I'm a bit perturbed, my default emotion when rebuked, and I tell Danny, "Look, I gotta go. Trudie's barking and I'm making dinner..." He graciously lets me go and I think how blind I am. I can be so callous, especially to those closest to me. Maybe God can only use me when I am unaware He's doing it. I'm pretty sure now He hasn't called me to share my thoughts on T.V. with anyone. At least never from a prideful heart. There is no Jesus in that.


After a few moments and a prayer of confession I call my brother back. I don't apologize... maybe he didn't notice. Speaking much more kindly now and from my surprisingly contrite heart I suggest a few things he could indeed bring tomorrow. I close my laptop while we talk and I actually enjoy the conversation. I know he likes to talk on the phone. No, it's not one of my favorite things to do but it may just be a simple way to serve him right now. How badly do I really want that servant's heart anyway?

The Field

I want to start jogging again but my knees hurt. They don't hurt all of the time but maybe 47% of the time they ache a little. I was talking to a friend tonight who is 20 years younger than me. He started running or jogging, I am not exactly sure of the difference only I'm pretty certain I've never done the former. (Except that one time when me and a buddy broke into this house in Tampa to see where they were filming a horror movie. After we were inside I saw someone at the back door with a flashlight trying to get in and we busted out of the front door running like deer from a forest fire. That time I ran for real.) Anyway, Joseph started jogging or running and he's trimmed up nicely and so I'm thinking I should do the same. Never mind that I'm 52, I can still have the lean body of a 30-year-old.

Ever since I returned from Romania I have been praying about other opportunities to serve. I want to become a missionary but probably for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes I imagine being introduced somewhere, "Dave Nix, missionary to Chiapas, Mexico, one of the most hostile regions for the gospel." Maybe there's like a "heaven receiving line" and most Christians have to wait in a queue but missionaries can casually stroll in a special door like the Hertz #1 Club or the Delta Sky Miles Medallion members. Pastors have yet another door but even they're only AAA members; missionaries have all the best perks.

Except it isn't like that. The gospel is about knowing Jesus. Really knowing Him. Serving, suffering and dying... sometimes in obscurity. God gets the glory and we passionately run after Him crying out with John the Baptist, "He must increase and I must decrease." The problem with this is that it is counter to most everything in me. Even when I think I've done something for altruistic motives I find this root of pride in me that wants just a taste a recognition. I'm convinced that followers of Christ know this better than anyone. Just a brief nod my way from the pulpit or a mention of some God-honoring deed I did all for the glory of Christ. I'll deflect the glory.... honest I will. I'll point heavenward and say with all the sincerity I can muster, "Ah, praise God, I'm just thankful He was able to use me." The only problem with this is that He knows my heart. He has said, "the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked: who can know it?" (Jeremiah 17:9) It's like He was thinking of me when he penned those words.

Surely I would be a poor missionary. I'm fond of comfort and my knees hurt. I like having a clean private toilet, not to mention toilet paper. Nevertheless, I found a website called finishers.org. It's for older people who want to research mission opportunities maybe instead of retiring to Sarasota. I posted some information about myself there and actually started hearing from people. When I returned from Romania I received an email about an opportunity to help provide wheelchairs for the disabled in Turkey. We started corresponding. All of a sudden I had to ask myself, would I give up my business? Could I imagine selling or renting my home and leaving Trudie with friends and going to another country, another culture, to tell them about a God who loved them and a Saviour who died in their place? From whence came this little seed of desire that whispers inside me "yes, do send me Lord, I'll go"?

So, I think I better start jogging. Just in case I am subject to a more rigorous lifestyle in the future. Also, I think Spanish is a good language to learn. Chiapas, Columbia, Cuba... who knows? (I gave thought to Romanian but that language sounds so terribly difficult.) I don't know if He'll ever send me outside my neighborhood but this odd desire that I've never had before started creeping into my thinking 3 years ago and it only seems to get stronger. It feeds my zeal here also. I find I talk about Him more with neighbors, co-workers and even customers (uh-oh, big American taboo there, huh?). It's just that Jesus said, "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field."

I want to buy that field.

Drinking, Community and the Gospel

I know someone who likes to drink. He cannot handle it though. He drinks too much and becomes inebriated. At that point it is difficult to be around him. Conversations become repetitive and animated, he pulls on my dog's ears playfully but too hard and she yelps, he becomes sloppy and just all around useless. He lived with me awhile on the condition that he not drink while staying here. After three strikes he was out. That was a couple months ago.

I've lived alone since my divorce. It was painfully lonely at first - especially on Sundays. Our pastor calls our congregation a "faith family" and that is what we are. I love my small group. But it was hard to worship together and then leave and be alone. I was always looking around for other people with whom to go to lunch after the service. Most of the time it was a drive-through and on to the house where Trudie would sit quietly waiting for a morsel to fall from the table.

In his book "Blue Like Jazz" Donald Miller shares how his pastor kept nagging him to move in with roommates. As I recall the author quite liked to be alone but his pastor believed firmly in community and kept nudging him until he relented and moved in with 4 other guys. He experienced difficulties but God used the experience to grow him, smoothing out some rough places like a sculptor.


I do think you can get mighty weird living alone. Talking to your pets isn't all that odd but I might want to keep an eye on the more lengthy two-part conversations. The ones that go something like this:


Trudie: "Daddy, why you gotta leave Trudie again?" (Trudie always speaks in the third person.)

Me: "Baby, you know Daddy has to work. Someone's gotta buy you food and treats." (I guess Daddy sometimes speaks in the third person too.)

Trudie: "Daddy, excuse me but it looks like you're the one doing all the eating."

Me: "Watch your mouth mutt or no walk before Daddy leaves for work!"


See what I mean? Doing it doesn't seem all that weird but writing it down like I did just now makes me wonder if I ought not find another roommate.... quickly.

Lately I have been thinking that relationships are far more important than I ever thought. I should have guarded many that I let dissolve or just kind of dissipate. I used to tell friends that moving around so much as a kid kept me skilled at cutting off relationships. If dad and mom said we were going back to Florida or moving to California I immediately started cutting ties and closing off a bit inside. These days I don't think that is such a great skill to have. Aside from the growing weird part I'm thinking God may use the more difficult times (like when someone is just royally getting on my nerves) to reveal things about my character that I'd rather not look at.

Imagine a guy hanging out for three years with twelve other guys. Out of that group he's really close to three of them. They do everything together - eating, sleeping, everything. You know how close you get to people just spending a week's vacation them. Sometimes their little habits start grating on you. When my friend lived with me he had a habit of walking through the house not really whistling but making a soft tune, which I could never identify by the way. It was kind of a cross between humming, breathing and whistling. Every morning he would do this as he paced around going from one room to the next with his coffee. EVERY morning.

Now imagine that you are Jesus hanging out with your twelve friends and you know them thoroughly. Not just the part of them they want you to see but you know them through and through. You see the core of their petty envy and bitter hatred. You see their irrational fears and slavish lusts. You see them as proud, arrogant and blind.... yet you love them. You reveal to them for the 3rd time at least that you are headed to an excruciating death on a cross of wood, nailed up there like a convicted murderer, though you never did one wrong deed in your life. You bear your soul and it goes right over their heads. They stare at you blankly and go right back to bickering about who is going to be the greatest in the coming kingdom. How alone would you feel? How desperate for intimacy and starved for true companionship and it's nowhere in these twelve. One of them will soon turn you over to authorities for some cash and another, who happens to be the loudest about his loyalty, will soon turn and run to save his own skin! At that point if I were Jesus I think I would've prayed, "God, just give me a dog! Please!" I bet his sweetest companionship was felt when he went off by himself, maybe knelt and looked up to the sky to talk to his Father. "Abba Father" he cried, "all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will..... but what you will."

Soon after he was suffering. Pain like we will never know. The cup would not be removed. The Father turns his back on his Son after placing every lie, every adultery, every murder, every drunken binge, every proud thought and envious glance right on the body of His Son. That body which Jesus said was broken for me. For you. Blood staining the harsh wood of the cross and falling to the dirt. Blood he said was poured out for us.

If someone wrote a play they could not capture the depth of this love. It's no wonder he told us to go tell everyone.