Lessons From Thibodeaux

My dog, The Bodacious Miss Maria Consuelo Thibodeaux Jones, is equal parts abject fear and Polyanna optimism. She's sitting at my feet right now hoping to eat the crumbs from my table. I am devouring some chicken while I sit and type. Admittedly, she stands a good chance of walking away with a full belly as typing and chicken eating are not the best combination of things with which to hone your multi-tasking skills. She has been sitting quietly as I read my normal blogs and news feeds. She doesn't mind at all when I yell that the computer. Even when I pound my desk yell things like, "Aw, come on! Nobody is that stupid!" she pretends not to notice. However, don't take a load of clothes out of the dryer or hold some mail in your hand and expect her to get within 10 feet of you.

Before you ask, no she was never beaten with clean clothes and I have never tortured her with mail. She's just goofy. She has her idiosyncratic behaviors and for the most part they amuse me. She has this goofy walking cadence she falls into when she's trying to be invisible and walk away from me and whatever it is I am carrying that terrifies her. She looks like a wind-up doll whose gears have slipped. She moves both legs on one side at the same time. It causes her to waddle a bit but mostly it makes her look like she's drunk and trying to pass a field sobriety test without looking at the officer administering it. I am fairly certain she thinks if she just minces by like that in that weird pacing gait and doesn't look me in the eye, I can't see her.

She was cracking me up today while I watched her mince by and I found myself wondering what was misfiring in her brain. Chet the Wonder Dog never had a moment's concern about his welfare with me. At 16 if I turned on the treadmill, he'd try to climb on with me because where I was, he wanted to be also. Thibodeaux may enjoy my company while she's hoping for chicken, but she's just as likely to settle into a bed in another room of the house as to sit at my feet. If I turn the treadmill on while she's in the room, she won't be there for long. Such different personalities.

It was difficult while Chet was alive to manage those differences. Chet loved to play fetch. For Thib a thrown ball is an invitation to play keep away. Chet took great pleasure in playing tug of war and growling the entire time he tugged and pulled. Thibby thinks the game is too serious if she hears a growl and while she will shake the rope in her mouth, if I try to tug it she releases it immediately. I miss Chet desperately and I am trying my best to find all the ways to connect with Thibby that I can. Then it dawned on me. I had trouble managing two vastly different personality types and look how many God has to contend with!

Seriously. I know He is intimately familiar with all of our personalities because He is our creator. But really, think about it. What would you do if you had millions and millions of personality types to shape, train and mold if you were not the Almighty Sovereign God? If you had to depend on your created beings to choose you, how would you control the ensuing chaos?

Psalm 115:3 But our God is in His heaven and He does what He pleases.

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware. Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers? What happens when luscious blooms are discarded? When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty? Perhaps we'll find out.

rambling rosemarie

Search This Blog