Tis the season?

I was angry a week ago when I walked in Target and a HUGE sign wished me a Merry Christmas.  You all know well that it's not even Thanksgiving, and I have always been morally opposed to anything Christmas-y before we slice the turkey.  But it seems I am behind the times, friend, because the Christmas season now certainly appears to begin the moment you come out your candy-induced Halloween coma.

Can you imagine what happened today when the "soft" radio station was churning out the holiday melodies?  OUTRAGE!  That is, until my grinch-like heart started to grow.  Christmas is my favorite time of the year.  Why should I stand in the way of a few more weeks of Christmas bliss?  My only trouble with this is that the Christmas season is honestly all about celebrating a lost world's salvation.  Let's try to think of that year-round!  But the reason the "Christmas season" starts so early is so Target can squeeze a few extra dollars out of my budget that's already stuffed tighter than the prize turkey.

But I gave up the fight, and let Bing and Elvis -- bidding me a White and Blue Christmas, respectively -- serenade me into retail paradise where I thought about how each of the twinkling pre-lit trees would look beneath my new vaulted ceilings this holiday season. Soon I was swept away by thoughts of mom and dad, friends and family surrounding me soon for, as cliche as it is, the most wonderful time of the year.

Look out, Grandma, cuz I think the reindeer are on the way.

A long one...

Adulthood

Today I did the most adult thing that I've ever done in my life.  I hopped in a minivan with a real estate agent, and went house shopping.  For a couple of months I've tossed around the idea of becoming a homeowner.  I thought it couldn't hurt to look.  So I called an agent my friend had used.  Now I am obsessed.  I can't stop looking at loans, at houses, and dreaming about the dog I can put in a fabulous backyard.  A house jumped out at me today.  Take a look:

It's also 4 minutes from my job.  Not that I'm anywhere close to deciding, I'm just suddenly feeling all grown up.

Little Buddy

I was 12 years old.  A string of unfortunate incidents left my family petless once again.  We were great pet owners, and as such, needed another.  And we had the perfect one picked out.  My mother was set on a Shih Tzu.  She was black and white.  Her name was Angel.  And we'd be able to come back and get her in two weeks.  Too bad the only thing we could think about was her ornery brother... the brindle and white puppy who had my three-person family fascinated.  Needless to say, two weeks later the fourth member of our family was a brown and white fluff named Rascal.

I think pets' names dictate their personality.  Obviously we should have kept the name Angel, though that certainly wouldn't have done anything for a male dog already at a disadvantage because he's the smallest, girliest thing in the neighborhood.  But from that first newspaper scattered around him in the living room, he was always a complete mess.  My dad carried on about how we'd never have an inside dog.  So he built a sort of doggie palace attached to his outside shed.  After about three meals where that cute face peered from the fence into our dining room, it was clear we had our first indoor canine.  And everything my dad railed against, pee stains on the floor and dog hair on the couch, was our reality.  The problem was that my father, like the rest of his family, was smitten.

And so for the rest of my adolescence, I had a "little brudder."  My lazy teenage self trudged out the door in February to make sure he had a walk.  That task was even less enviable when mom bought him a sweater.  And even though I seldom claimed him, that face was the last one I saw leaving the house and the first one I saw when I got home.  He got special meals, like hamburger meat without the taco seasoning that the rest of us were having, and for years my mother didn't know how to eat an entire hot dog.  With a little sweat from me and a lot more from my dad, our backyard was upgraded to chain link.  And doggie slobber became a permanent fixture on the car window.

But then the important things happened: graduation, college, "real life" that just happened to be 800 miles from Mena and my constant companion.  We grew apart, but the hairball's status back at the ranch was ever- increasing.  My summers and short visits home saw the creature eat an almost endless supply of popsicles with my dad.  He swears he was trying to kill him so that the weekly baths would stop.  But we knew that wasn't the case because Rascal was the only one who would participate in my father's ridiculous dances around the living room.  But with each trip home, Rascal's crooked leg bothered him a little more.  He didn't roam quite as far when we took him off the leash.  It took an extra grunt to get down the stairs.

My phone calls home almost always included a Rascal update.  Since Christmas, they've included his loss of vision, hearing, and even appetite.  It was Wednesday when my mother told me she didn't know what would happen when another son left her.  It was Friday when she found out.  "The vet said it's what was best," my father told me in a brief conversation while I was busy living life miles away.  "I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said as I went about what I was doing.

My parents didn't answer when I called a few minutes ago.  So I'm sorry, Rascal, that I was with folks I've known for just a few days when the friend who's been so close for over a decade was leaving me forever.  I'm sorry mom, that I can't give you a hug at this very moment, just as comforting as all those you've given me.  And I'm sorry for anyone reading this who has never had a pet that was anything but.

Rascal: for all the barks and bites, for all the love and licks... you're family.  I love you.  I'll miss you.  Sleep well.

Today

Life change.

That's the buzz phrase at my job.  Boil it down, it's what God requires of us.  Sinners obviously need a life change.  But what about us?  Who among us couldn't benefit by changing their life to better reflect our Savior?

And that's where I am.  Have you ever had a good day with God?  On Monday, my day off, me and my Jesus had a good talk, where I realized that instead of focusing on trying to change other people's lives, I needed to surrender to the process.  Maybe it's through my change that someone will see the love of God that we all so desperately need. 

My dad liked to quote Paul a lot as I was growing up... "I die daily."  Thank you. Lord, that today is just a day.  Tomorrow is a day when I can serve you better.  Fight my imperfections.  Another chance to die to the crumbling world around me and surrender myself in worship to You.  I know there's a ton of theology in that verse that I'm glossing over, but tonight, that's what it means.

Since I don't often do this whole deep thinking, contemplation thing, I've been a little reserved on the outside lately.  It was at lunch with a great friend from my old news life last week I realized just how distracted I am by the path I'm now headed down.  Rather, I should say, distracted by the fact that God hasn't told me exactly what's around the next bend.

I am sure it involves life change.